


Black Coin

by CameronJames



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Assassin Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Assassination Plot(s), Character Death, Confessions, Denial, Depression, Dream and George both stay alive dw, Dream sounds like a psychopath sometimes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Internal Conflict, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Royalty, Sapnap ships it, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28381644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CameronJames/pseuds/CameronJames
Summary: Dream is one of the most revered assassins in the North. He was known as merciless and emotionless. He's worked hard for that reputation. It worked best for him. No one really wanted to know him past his reputation so he didn't need to worry about losing anyone. That made things easy.Prince George is next in line for the throne... If he survives that long. Life has never been easy for George, and he doesn't think it ever will be. He doesn't really have any friends, and he doesn't have anywhere to go, nowhere to hide from the suffering. He's been numb to it for a long time.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 157
Kudos: 315





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for the dnf fandom, and my first fic in almost two years, so go easy on me. 
> 
> This fic is going to be based off of "Run Wild" by for KING & COUNTRY, give it a listen for some added atmosphere (https://open.spotify.com/track/1g6fbGODFAdGjBm6dQ7eXc?si=TlE5UnnGRaK7V1tawSpXXg)
> 
> Beta'd by my good friend Sam.

Dream woke up to the sound of thunder and a damp chill creeping over his skin. He sat up with a groan and rubbed his eyes, trying to see in the dark of his room. It was cold, and he guessed that the fire in his fireplace must’ve gone out when he had dozed off. He exhales in one deep breath, a shiver running up his spine when he can see it in front of his face. He slides out of bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor without a sound. He briefly considers relighting the fire in the hearth before deciding the cold will help him wake up faster. The first task of the day is a cold shower and a shave, which leaves him feeling much more awake than he did beforehand. He gets dressed quickly, pulling on a dark green leather hooded jacket, thick black pants, boots that go halfway up his calves, and black leather fingerless gloves.

He makes himself a simple breakfast, two eggs, toast, and a small cup of milk, which he needs to finish before he leaves on his next mission anyways. By the time he finishes this part of his morning routine, he guesses it’s about 8 A.M. This next part is his favorite, the routine of it grounding and calming him. He pulls a tight leather roll out of the drawer in the table next to his bed, untying the rope around it and rolling it out on his wooden table, the four knives inside catching the sunlight on their edges. He pulls out his grinding stone next, getting a good grip on it before picking up the first knife, which is a small blade, sharp on both edges. He doesn’t necessarily need to sharpen it, but he does anyway, reveling in how normal it feels. The whole process takes roughly half an hour, and when he’s done each knife is tucked away inside his jacket, hidden from the world but easily accessible to him when he needs it. Before he leaves his house, he grabs a heavy axe, a crossbow, and a quiver of bolts off the wall, smiling at how good – how  _ right _ – it feels to be holding them again.

He slides his mask, porcelain white with a simple smile on it, over his face and pulls his hood up over his still-wet dirty blonde hair before stepping outside, inhaling a deep breath of cool, damp morning air. He notes how the thunder has stopped and the rain has lightened to a slight drizzle, and with a quick glance to the sky, he makes a note of which direction the storm is headed. He smiles slightly as a quiet huff of breath lets him know that his horse, Patches, has seen him. He pets her large head, thinking about the day ahead.

“You ready for another adventure?” He asks her, scratching lightly.

She whinnies as if she understands him. It makes Dream smile even more.

He needs to ride down to the village and pick up his next assignment, and then that will be his entire focus until it’s done. He brushes Patches down and gets all her gear on to make sure she’s comfortable before loading the saddle bag with gear, strapping his axe and bow to the sides. He climbs up and points her in the direction of the village – a path they’ve both travelled many times before – and she takes off without hesitation. He wouldn’t say he  _ loves  _ his job, because that would make him sound like a psychopath – which he  _ wasn’t,  _ he had  _ feelings _ – but he does take pride in his work, which he knows doesn’t sound much better. The truth is, it’s the only job he’s ever done, and he’s good at it. It gives him reprieve from the thoughts and feelings that plague him when he’s not working, and that’s what he needs. Getting tangled up in that state of mind never did him any good, so he did anything and everything he could to just not feel.

The ride to the village is uneventful, the only person he sees is a farmer with a pile of hay in his wagon, and they exchange nods. All the village people know him, and while they might not  _ like  _ him or his presence, they respect him, and hope they never end up in the Tiers. He slows Patches with a gentle press of his heels as he passes through the village gates, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells all over again as if it was the first time. That’s something he’s learned helps, taking in little things. He stops outside the village center, tying his horse to the post out front and running his fingers through her mane before going inside. Conversations are taking place all around him, groups of two, three, four people talking about personal or business matters, none of which concern him. He makes his way to the very back, nodding to the man standing next to the door and flashing a small dark object as he enters. The atmosphere in this room is very different, much quieter and tense. The lights are dimmer and there are no windows. The conversations are more contained, looks and expressions more guarded. Business here is kept private, and it’s for the better.

“Welcome back Dream, long time no see.” A familiar voice says from behind him.

He turns around, a smile breaking out on his face under the mask. He pulls the man into a hug, giving him a heavy pat on the back. When they pull apart, he puts his head down to run his fingers through his wind knotted hair.

“Long time no see is right,” He says, and he knows the other man can hear his smile. “How have you been Sap?”

Sap, or Sapnap as the rest of the assassins refer to him by, was a long-time friend of his. Sapnap had short black hair held out of his face by a white headband, and facial hair trimmed to accentuate his jawline and cheekbones. He knew how to use his looks for personal gain, in both his personal and work life. Dream wasn’t ashamed to admit that he knew about that from personal experience. They’d gone on a few missions together, splitting the bounty and treating each other to drinks when they came back victorious. Sapnap wasn’t his real name, obviously, just as Dream wasn’t  _ his _ real name either. Dream hadn’t been called his real name since… since his parents died. But that didn’t matter to him, at least not anymore. No one used their real names in this profession. It kept things cleaner.

“I’ve been good, been chasing down Tier Ones lately. It’s easy work, pays good, it’s not too dangerous and it keeps me occupied. What’re you going after today?” His friend asks, even though they both know the answer.

Dream tilts his head, still smiling.

“You know I only go for Tier Threes. Anything else isn’t worth my time.” He replies, his voice even.

“Yeah yeah, we all know you’re a big shot, Dream. I’m just trying to make small talk here.” Sapnap says, shaking his head at the tone of Dream’s voice.

“Sorry, you know how it is.” Dream’s never been very good at small talk, but it’s easier with Sapnap.

“Of course.” He says, exhaling slowly.

A silence draws out between them.

“How have you been feeling lately?” Sapnap’s question is quiet, but direct.

Dream looks away, hating that he’s asked this question even though he knows it’s coming every time.

“I’ve been better.” He says curtly, letting Sapnap know not to push further.

The other man gets the message, nodding.

“A good hunt is just what you need then, huh?”

“That’s why I’m here.” He answers with a nod.

“That’s why we’re all here, Dream. I’ll talk to you when you get back, alright? Don’t die on me.” Sapnap says, punching him in the shoulder before walking away.

Dream smiles to himself again before turning away, making his way across the rest of the room to get to the Tier wall on the far side. The Tier wall is a board with three lists, separated by risk level and reward. They usually get smaller, the third list typically not having many targets at all. Today, there’s only one. Dream already knows this will be the one he goes for, and no one is going to take it from him. They all know better. He approaches the board and reads each list before his eyes settle on the third one, the name written in dark red ink. He pulls a flat black coin with his trademark smile carefully engraved on it out of his jacket and sets it on the counter, pushing it towards the woman who’s been watching him.

“King Henry is mine.”

“Of course, Dream.” She says without hesitation as she takes his coin.

She slides him a dull silver coin with a crown on it as a replacement. He’ll get his coin back when he returns the silver one, dipped in the Targets blood. There really wasn’t a need for Dream to get his coin back, but having that coin was like its own protection. You could show someone your coin and they would know who you were, what you had done, and what you were willing to do. Returning the Target’s coin with their blood on it was a good way to let whoever had placed the hit know that they were dead. They didn’t really have any issues with honesty here. Everyone was here for a reason, and it would be hard for them to encounter something that would make them want to quit.

Dream runs his thumb over the cool metal a couple of times, feeling all the grooves and ridges in it before tucking it into a buttoned pocket on the inside of his jacket for safekeeping. He offers the woman a slight nod of gratitude, and she averts her eyes in respect. Her and the guard out front were the only two people who weren’t assassins here. Dream straightens his mask and pulls his hood back over his head, engulfing his face back into the shadows as he leaves the room and then the building. He goes back to Patches and reaches into her pack to feed her an apple before they set off again. It was going to be at least a day's ride to the Target, if the weather stayed favorable and he didn’t run into any trouble along the way. He kind of hoped he did, it would make the assignment more interesting. It would keep him occupied for longer, and he needed to be away right now.

Double checking to make sure he has enough food for at least a couple days if he gets thrown off course, he climbs back into Patches and gives her a short rub between the ears as she finishes eating her treat. He wiggles slightly, getting comfy on her back before pointing her south, the direction of the Target, and they’re off. The townspeople clear out of his way, and by the time they’re out of the village gates, Patches is running at full speed, Dream pressed into her mane as his adrenaline races. The rain is a welcomed cool sting against his skin, the wind howling in his ears and he smiles wide. It felt so damn good to be back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading the first chapter! I'm very excited for this AU and to be writing for this fandom. If you enjoyed my work, don't be afraid to leave kudos, a comment, and subscribe if you want to receive email updates when I post new chapters!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter DOES CONTAIN GRAPHIC MENTIONS OF ABUSE. If this makes you uncomfortable, you can safely read up until "When he wakes again, something doesn’t feel quite right." <\-- This is where the abuse starts. Skip to the end of the chapter for more notes on what you missed. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read Chapter 1, left comments and kudos! It makes me really happy and gives me more motivation to keep writing for you guys. Without further ado, here's Chapter 2! 
> 
> Thanks again to Sam for beta'ing

Dream pushes Patches at the same grueling pace until they’re under the cover of the forest that lies outside of the village. Dream really felt in his element here, knowing that at any moment he could hide among the trees and no one would be able to see him, if he didn’t want them to. He’d trained for two years in order to master stealth and hiding, and it hadn’t done him wrong yet. There was no one in the area with him now, however, so he let his shoulders relax as he sits up straight on Patches’ back, slowing her down to a more manageable pace as they make their way through the forest. The canopy above them is thick enough that not a lot of sunlight is able to filter through, but Dream can still see the path ahead in the early afternoon glow. The sound of birds and other woodland creatures reach his ears every so often, and he even catches a few glimpses of bright red or blue as the birds flit in and out of his vision. 

They make good progress before Dream decides it’s time for lunch and steers Patches off the path. He slides off her back and pats her head again before pulling his pack off her back, sitting on the ground with his back against a tree. Patches stays close by, quietly grazing in the tall grass. Dream pulls out a loaf of bread, an apple, and his water skin. It’s a small, simple lunch, but it’ll be enough for him. He breaks a chunk of the loaf before rewrapping the rest and putting it back. He carefully pulls his mask off, setting it in the grass beside him. Taking a bite out of his apple, he leans his head against the rough tree bark and gazes up at the leaves as he eats. The air is growing more humid around him as the sun rises further into the sky and the afternoon starts to heat up. He takes a sip of his water, washing down the apple. The rest of his lunch time passes by in relative silence, which suits him just fine. 

He stands and stretches, putting his water skin back in his pack and feeding his apple core to Patches. He barely manages to get his pack situated back on her back before a sound causes him to whip around, staring off into the green forest, silent. He knows he heard it, the sound of movement. He slowly leans down until his fingers brush the cool material of his mask and he snatches it up, quickly situating it on his face once more. To his right, he hears a rustle, the snap of a branch underfoot. Someone else was here, and they were walking right towards him. Without hesitation, Dream grabs his crossbow and climbs into the nearest tree, getting a bolt ready. He holds his breath, the only sounds now are Patches’ nervous whinnies and the footsteps growing louder. 

“Over here! There’s a horse!” A loud, shrill voice suddenly rings through the forest, hurting Dreams' ears and sending the birds flying. 

They weren’t even going to make this hard for him, were they? Stealth was clearly not their strong suit. Dream raises his crossbow and exhales slowly, staring down the sight. A few seconds later, a woman with dark brown hair in a braid down her back, brown leather pants, a tan tunic and a helmet comes into sight, a long sword drawn. She looks around briefly before slowly approaching Patches, who lets out a low whinny but cautiously lets the stranger approach. They’ve done this many times before. The woman smirks to herself and goes to open Dreams pack, not getting very far at all as Patches kicks her back legs out, landing the blow square in the woman’s chest and sending her flying back. She coughs violently, the wind clearly knocked out of her lungs. 

“Alice? Are you okay?” A man’s voice echoes through the forest. 

The woman, Alice, obviously doesn’t answer, still flat on her back trying to get her breath back. Dream is able to put a face to the voice shortly after, as a tall man with black hair and all black clothing emerges from the right side of the clearing. Dream doesn’t hesitate and lets his bolt fly, hitting the man right in the stomach. He doesn’t yell, but a choked gasp escapes his lips as he looks down, blood already staining his tunic and the ground underneath him. He falls to his knees and pulls the bolt out, trying to figure out where the shot came from. He doesn’t have a chance to see Dream before Dream drops from his hiding spot and shoots the man again, this next shot hitting right between the man’s eyes with a sickening sound. He ignores the woman, putting his crossbow away before climbing back up into the saddle. As he’s leaving, however, he meets her eyes and she quickly looks away, still gasping. She’ll be lucky to go home with some broken ribs, at the very least. 

As he rides away, he thinks about how easy it was for him to kill that man. He almost hopes that the woman runs back to the village to tell them all about what he’s done, but he doubts she’s going to live long enough to make it back. He doesn’t feel bad about what he’s done, and that  _ almost  _ worries him. They were going to steal from him, maybe kill his horse, maybe try to kill  _ him _ if he had been any less good at his job. The adrenaline from the kill wears off quickly, and before long he’s left alone with his thoughts once again. The ride there is the worst part of these assignments, because all Dream has is his thoughts. He’s usually able to distract himself by plotting how he’s going to complete his task, but he already has a pretty good idea for this one. 

King Henry is an evil man, a king so feared by his subjects that they never speak about him. He’s been known to kill subjects just because he felt like it, or to summon them to his throne room only for them to never be seen again. Dream figured it would be relatively easy, he’d show up in the town today or tomorrow, rent a room at some humble inn, then spend the day scouting the castle, learning the guards routines, when they’re patrolling, when they switch shifts. Maybe he’d say some treasonous things about the King to the right people, get the guards sent after him. It’s not like they’d find him before his task was complete anyways. It wouldn’t take him very long, a day at most. Then, he’d find the castle’s weakest point and sneak in at night, finding the King’s bedchambers and killing him in his sleep. Some people would say that that was a cowardly way to kill someone, but it got the job done and that’s what mattered to Dream. 

He actually makes less progress during the rest of the afternoon than he thought he would, despite the rest of the ride until sunset being disturbingly quiet. He usually runs into more bandits or other people looking for trouble, but there had been no one else for the rest of the ride. When the sun finally starts to set, Dream steers Patches off the path, down a small slope to the edge of a small river. He climbs off her back and ties her lead to a short birch tree on the riverbank, stretching his legs and cracking his back. He pulls his pack off first, then her saddle, and sets everything down in the grass. He pulls out her brush and brushes her down, making sure she’s comfortable for the night before getting his things ready. He lays out his bedroll in the grass, using his pack as a pillow. The sun is almost fully set by now, and he can feel the sticky sweat on his skin. He knows the river water will be cool but not cold, heated by the sun over the course of the day, and he figures it’ll be the perfect way to stop feeling so sticky. 

He slips his mask off and tucks it into his pack, followed by his gloves and the boots, which he sets near the base of the tree. His pants and the jacket are the hardest to pull off, the sweat on his skin acting like a makeshift glue. It’s gross, but after a few seconds of struggling, he pulls both articles of clothing off. He decides to wash them in the river, knowing he’s not going to be able to wear them tomorrow if they stay smelling like this. He slides into the river bare naked, a content sound of pleasure leaving his lips. The cool water laps at his skin, washing away the sweat and dirt from the day's ride. He cleans his clothes as best he can, wringing them out and tossing them back onto the riverbank before submerging himself entirely underwater, letting the river wash over him. He stays under until his lungs burn with the need to breath, resurfacing with a deep breath. He doesn’t climb out of the river until his skin starts to prune and the mosquitos start to bother him. 

Patches eyes him sleepily as he sits in the sand, gathering a small pile of wood and grass and starting a fire. He lays his clothes out on rocks next to the fire, figuring that by the time he wakes the next morning they’ll be dry. His dinner consists of more bread, dried fruit, water, and a hard candy he’d purchased for himself after his last successful mission. He thinks as he eats, wondering, not for the first or the last time, what he’s going to do with himself when it comes time to stop hunting. 

“What do you think, girl?” He asks his horse rhetorically. “You think we could get a little house in the countryside? Maybe a couple cows… maybe a cat…” 

Patches whinnies thoughtfully, munching on some grass. She was used to Dream talking about random stuff like this. 

“I think I could get used to that… the peace and quiet of a small farm, enough money to not have to worry about much.” 

Dream gets lost in his thoughts as he finishes his dinner, sucking on the hard candy until it dissolves completely in his mouth. When he comes back to reality, Patches is asleep, her breathing deep and even. He smiles to himself as he stands up, brushing the stray sand particles off his skin before climbing into his bedroll, situating himself comfortably enough. He’d never been a fan of sleeping on the ground, but he was used to it by now and could get a good enough night's sleep. The fire dwindles down to glowing embers as Dream stares up at the night sky, sleep slowing dragging him in. When he wakes again, something doesn’t feel quite right. His head feels like it’s filled with fog, and he’s confused. Wasn’t he just by a river? He looks around quickly, his heart sinking in his chest as he takes in his surroundings. It’s been a long time since he’s been here, and he was hoping it would stay that way. He was never quite that lucky though. 

_ “Where’d you go, Clay?”  _ A deep male voice echoes through the dream, making his heart rate speed up on instinct. 

He sits frozen in his childhood bed as he hears his fathers footsteps drawing closer. He knows he has to move or he’ll be found. With a jerk, he scrambles off the bed and crawls under it, until he’s in the furthest corner, curled up. The wooden door to his room slams open seconds later and all he can see is his fathers dirty boots, coming closer to his hiding spot. 

_ “Come out, boy… I’m not going to hurt you.”  _ The words are filled with deceit, and he knows this all too well. 

He covers his mouth with his hand as his father starts to walk around his room, opening the chest at the foot of his bed. If this dream goes like all the others have, it won’t do him much good anyways. It was amazing how coming back to this time in his life terrified him the most. He’s killed people and never felt like he does right now. His father checks his wardrobe next, mumbling to himself. It makes Dream's heart race even more, and he’s half tempted to give away his spot just so this can be over sooner and he can wake up. He doesn’t get to act on this, however, as he’s snapped back to the events at hand by a tight grip on his ankle. He looks down and screams, trying to dig his nails into the splintered wooden floor as he’s dragged out of hiding. His father is much bigger and much stronger in Dreams mind than he ever was in real life. That doesn’t help him now however, and he tears his palms bloody trying to grip the floor. He struggles as his father picks him up and throws him on top of his bed, still desperately trying to get away. His father grabs his ankle again, pulling him back. 

_ “Thought you could hide from me, did you?”  _ He grins, flashing disgusting yellowed teeth. 

Dream grits his teeth but he can’t stop the whimper that escapes his lips. His silence only pisses his father off more. 

_ “What did I tell you about not answering me?”  _ He growls, digging his nails into Dreams skin. 

He yelps at the pain and struggles more, adrenaline spiking. 

_ “Stay still dammit!”  _ The words are followed with a harsh slap across his face, and it shocks him into stillness. 

_ “I- I’m sorry- please…”  _ He whimpers, his own voice sounding foreign in his ears. 

Another slap to the opposite side of his face is what he receives in answer. 

_ “Looks like I need to teach you another lesson, eh boy?”  _ His father says with a dark chuckle.

The words reignite Dream’s fight or flight mechanism and he struggles with renewed vigor. It’s useless, though, and he’s thrown on the floor, gasping for breath from the impact. He looks behind him, tears pricking his eyes as he catches sight of the leather whip that’s materialized in his fathers hand. 

_ “No! P-please! I’ll behave, I swear!”  _ He begs, his heart pounding in his ears. 

_ “It’s too late for that.”  _ His father answers, cracking the whip in the air, making Dream jump. 

He tries in vain to gain purchase on the floor to make an escape, but it’s no use. His vision goes white as the thin leather makes contact with his skin, splitting his skin on impact. He screams, his body going limp on the boards. His father laughs, striking him again. 

_ “Eventually you’ll learn, boy. I’m doing this to teach you.”  _ He snarls, stepping closer. 

The whip cracks again and Dream jerks awake, sitting upright and breathing heavily as his own agony filled screams echo in his head. He gasps for breath as Patches whinnies nervously, sniffing his head with her large nose. He wipes his face, his tears making him grimace. It takes him a minute to come down from his post-dream anxiety attack, and when he does he dresses quickly, getting Patches ready to go in record time. He climbs on her back and takes off, the wind burning his face and hiding the red tear streaks on his face. Yes, keeping feelings out of his life is what was best. He didn’t think he could deal with any more emotional trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of the chapter! Things got a little bit upsetting in there, but it's all for the plot, I swear. For those of you needed to skip the abuse part, all you need to know to continue with the story is that Dream was abused as a child and has a lot of trauma from that and that's why he's built up these walls. Emotions have never been his strong suit, so he figures that he doesn't need them. 
> 
> Thanks for reading Chapter 2! Leave suggestions/comments/critiques down below and subscribe if you want email updates when I post a new chapter! Chapter 3 is in the works and will be from George's perspective so we can do some world building with him before they meet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter 3 everyone! Thank you all for the kind words on the previous chapters, it really does mean a lot to me. In this chapter, we've switched to George's POV (chapter 4 will be in his pov as well) so we can character and world build with him, and you all can meet him, feel his pain, etc. 
> 
> This chapter DOES contain mentions of homophobia, but there's no graphic abuse scenes like the last chapter. 
> 
> Beta'd by Sam again <3

George leaned against the cold stone wall of his room, knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes burning from the recent cry he just had. This room had been his home for almost a year now, and he had long since gotten sick of looking at it. It was in the rough shape of a circle, barred windows on each side. He had his bed pushed under a window, a writing desk off to the side. He had a mirror attached to his empty wardrobe directly across. He had a dusty bookshelf filled with books and little trinkets he’d collected. He knew it all like the back of his hand by now. The rain was pouring down outside, and it calmed him ever so slightly. He picks at a loose thread on the hem of his night-shirt, wondering when his dinner will be brought to him. He looks out of his window, unable to tell the time of day due to the heavy cloud cover. 

He sighs and lays on his side, curling up into a ball on top of his bedding. There wasn’t much else to do in his room apart from rereading the books he’s already read hundreds of times cover to cover. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave his room, so he didn’t even bother asking anymore. He missed going outside, seeing the castle gardens, grooming the horses, going swimming in the river, doing  _ literally anything _ outside of his room. A noise outside his door startles him from his thoughts. He nearly trips over his robes in his rush to get to the door, before the person on the other side leaves. 

“Hello? Who’s there?” He asks, leaning his forehead against the heavy wooden door, trying to hear anything.

He can hear the person bend down, hear the sound of a platter being set on the ground. 

“Please… please talk to me…” He begs, sliding down his knees. 

Whoever it is says nothing. The sounds continue and George feels his heart clench at being ignored, yet again. 

“I’m sorry… I- I’ll do anything just please-” The platter with his dinner on it is slid through the small hole in his door. 

“Please don’t ignore me..” His voice breaks slightly at the sound of retreating footsteps. 

He bites his lip, trying hard to stop the tears from coming but it’s no use. His nails dig into the soft flesh of his palms, drawing blood. He needs to relax, to calm his breathing, but it gets harder and harder every time. He hasn’t talked to anybody -  _ seen anybody  _ \- in months. Trying to talk to the people who bring him his food has become a daily thing, even though the results are never different. There was only so much company he could get from talking to the crows who regularly visited his windowsill for the scraps he gave them. He looks down at the food, noting how the portions seem to have been getting smaller. He has to force himself to eat the bland food slowly, trying to draw out the activity of eating because he knows he’ll have nothing to do when he’s done. 

Despite his best efforts, however, it doesn’t take him very long to finish eating. Especially not when there was so little food to begin with. Before he pushes the platter back out of the slot it came through, he brushes the crumbs into his hand to feed to the birds. Climbing back into bed, he sits on his knees in front of the window and sprinkles them on the windowsill, waiting. A minute or so later, a crow lands and pecks at George’s offering. This one always visited George after mealtime, and it made him happy that the animal kept returning despite his offerings becoming smaller and smaller. He enjoyed watching the bird eat, stare at him cautiously, and fly off. It was their own daily routine. 

“I wish I could fly like you…” He whispers to the bird, who cocks its head at him. “I could fly through the trees, over the ocean, through the mountains, far far away from this horrible place.” 

This is a part of George’s daily routine too. Imagining what he would do if he got out of this castle was one of the few things that kept him going every day. He always imagined how the first thing he would do was run. He wanted to run through a river, through a field of flowers, through a puddle of mud. He wanted to feel the earth on his feet like he used to when he was a child. He wanted to feel the rain on his face, catch a snowflake on his tongue. He wanted to jump off the docks in the summer, and dry off by a roaring fire. He wanted to read new books, dance to new music. He wanted to lay in the grass and stare up at the stars at night. But most of all, he wanted to do all these things  _ with someone.  _ He despised being alone. His parent’s knew how to take advantage of that. 

It had all started when his mother, Queen Alexandria, had caught him in the gazebo making out with a kitchen staff boy. She’d been infuriated, practically dragging him back to the castle as he cried, confused as to what he’d done wrong. This wasn’t the first time his parents had been abusive towards him, but it was the first time where he genuinely believed he’d done nothing wrong. His mother had dragged him all the way to his father’s private quarters, shoving him to the ground at his feet. Then he had to watch as his mother told his father, King Henry, what he had done. He didn’t understand why his mother had started crying, or why his father’s face turned so red. 

He did understand, however, when his father beat him that night, screaming and spitting harsh words like: 

“ _ Why can’t you be normal!?” _

And 

_ “You’re a disgrace to your mother and I.” _

And 

_ “How are we supposed to leave this kingdom to you when you’re like  _ this. _ ” _

He eventually learned through word of mouth that he wasn’t supposed to kiss boys. That since he was a Prince, since he was supposed to be King someday, he was supposed to kiss girls. That he would be expected to marry a woman someday. That he would be expected to have a child to be heir to the throne after him. It didn’t really matter what he had learned anyway, because after that incident his parent’s never let him out of their sight. He had been 19 when his mother had caught him, and now, he just turned 22, having been shut away in his room when he’d turned 21. He didn’t know anything about the world outside of his room anymore. He had lost hope that he’d escape a long time ago. 

George is brought back to the present when the bird caws at him before taking flight, disappearing in the fog. He sighs to himself again and slides off the bed, standing shakily. He moves to the other side of his room, standing in front of the mirror. He looks at his own hands, lightly touching his own skin. Here he could clearly see the purple bruise around his wrist from where he’d gotten it stuck in the bars in his window the week prior. He could see the angry red cuts on his knuckles from where he’d taken out his frustration on the stone wall. In the mirror he could see the bruises on his knees from the numerous number of times he’d fallen in front of his door, begging. There were various other marks on his body, most of them connected to not so pleasant memories. Some were the only things he had to remember his childhood by, like the scar on his stomach he’d got from falling out of a tree when he was 7. 

George bites his lip again, turning away from his reflection. It was growing darker outside now, and he welcomed it. Sleep was a blessing for him. It threw him into worlds where he could be anything he wanted, do whatever he pleased. He loved dreaming, and he dreaded the fact that he had to wake up eventually. George walked over to the stone basin in the corner of his room, gazing into the still water. He could see the bags under his eyes. He leaned in, destroying his reflection with his hands as he cupped water into them, scrubbing his face. It was cold and it stung, but he wanted to feel a little bit clean after the amount of crying he did today. He dried his face on his nightshirt, exhaling slowly. He was so exhausted with his life. 

The sky had lost its light now, the only thing coming in his window is the flickering fire of street lanterns below. He slipped under his bed covers, pulling them tightly around his shoulders and under his chin, closing his eyes. Everything was so silent and he was alone with his thoughts. He willed his head to be quiet and focused on slowing his breathing. He had figured out that relaxing as much as possible helped sleep drag him under. He wanted nothing more than to be under right now. It didn’t take him long tonight, 20 minutes at most, before the sweet bliss of sleep finally took him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading Chapter 3! We're getting closer to George and Dream meeting and I'm so excited to write the two of them together.
> 
> On another note, I have some exciting news. I found an artist on Tumblr who's art style I fell in love with and I've been talking with them about getting a drawing of Dream and George with their outfits from this fic done. It's all very tentative right now, but I definitely want to do it and I'm super excited for it to happen. 
> 
> Finally, a question for you all. Are my chapter lengths long enough? They average around 1600 words I think and they look short when I pull them up but a lot of time/writing goes into them. I feel like they look so short because it's all blocky paragraphs at the moment, but there will be dialogue soon. 
> 
> I also have a DNF playlist with a collection of songs that I want to write one-shots about, so if you're interested in those when they come out, subscribe to me as an author and you'll get emails when I post any new works. 
> 
> As always, don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, and subscribe to the work if you'd like to know when new chapters are posted. Thank you for all your support, it means the world to me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter 4! This is my favorite chapter so far, and it's 3200 words, so I hope you all love it too. I really like the length as well, so maybe expect similar length chapters from here on out? 
> 
> There are SLIGHT mentions of abuse in this chapter, nothing as bad as chapter 2, but there is some pulling and shoving. 
> 
> Beta'd by Sam again :)

George woke up to the sound of his door closing, the heavy metal lock clicking ominously. He sits up in bed, immensely confused. Who had been in his room? How had he not heard them come in? He looks around his space, trying to decipher what happened. His eyes settle on his wardrobe, which had been empty the day before. Now, there were several garments hung up. From here, he can see the dark blue fabric, the gold accents, the way it all catches the light. His breath gets caught in his chest. He’s incredibly wary of them. Why were these here? He gets out of bed and walks slowly, cautiously, over to the wardrobe. He pulls out the cloak, made from a heavy dark blue wool with gold buttons and a satin gold lining. The shirt is black with gold detailing around the collar and the cuffs, and it looks like it will fit him perfectly. The trousers are also just black, not as form fitting but not baggy. On the floor are a pair of black knee-high lace up boots. All the fabric feels foreign in his hands. He’s even more confused now.

He carefully returns everything to the wardrobe, another glimmer of gold catching his eye. He turns his head, going wide eyed as he sees the crown on his writing desk. It’s been polished lately, and the gold catches the sun rays beautifully. The crown has seven points, a dark blue sapphire inlaid in each one. The crown is delicately carved with an intricate design that George knows must’ve taken hours. He picks it up and holds it, being as gentle with it as possible. It almost doesn’t feel real. He hadn’t seen or touched his royal clothes since he was locked in his room, so why were they here now? He can only guess that there’s something important happening today, something his parents  _ have  _ to have him there for or they’ll garner suspicion. He sets his crown down, brushing his fingers over the expensive gemstones before turning away. 

His eyes fall on the tray of food that’s been left next to his door. His breakfast today is more lavish than it usually is. He can see eggs, fried ham, toast with some type of marmalade, and even a small glass of orange juice. His parents must really want him to be on his best behavior today. What on earth was going on? What day was it, even? He had no clue. The weather outside was chilly, and he could see a slight breeze blowing the branches of the tree outside his window. The sun had managed to escape its cloud prison from the day before however, and the rays in his room, reflecting off his clothes and his crown, were a welcome change from the normally gloomy weather. He picks up his breakfast and sits back in bed, crossing his legs as he picks at his eggs. He can feel emotion bubbling in his chest, dangerous, foolish emotion. He doesn’t want to let his family back in, doesn’t want to feel this hopeful just because he got slightly better food and clothes. 

He grows more and more confused, wary, and upset as he forces the food into his body. The fact that his parents had his things brought to his room all of a sudden can not be good for him. He slides the empty tray back under the door and chews on his lip as he turns his attention back to the clothes he knows he has to put on. He pulls out the undergarments, a lace up white tunic and underwear. These feel more normal to put on, and he does so with ease. The lavish royal fabrics are more foreign to wear. He pulls out the overshirt, and carefully pulls it around his shoulders, gently buttoning the buttons on his wrists and up his chest. He goes for the pants next, pulling them over his thighs and tying them around his waist, which had been thinner lately. He ties a golden belt around his waist, pulling his shirt out slightly so it hangs over his waistband. The boots are next, and the longest part is lacing them up and adjusting his pants so they’re tucked in but hang over the top. The heavy cloak is next, and as he slips it on, for a moment it feels comforting and safe until he goes to clasp it around his neck. The gold metal engraved with his family insignia brings him back to the present, and his stomach twists at how it feels. Finally, the crown. His mouth goes dry as he thinks about putting it on, and his hands feel clammy. He swallows roughly and wipes his hands on the robe before picking it up. His stomach churns in negation as he gingerly places the piece on top of his head. He hates that it has come to this, that he can’t even wear clothes that were rightfully his anymore without feeling so disgusted. 

He looks at himself in the mirror until he feels like he can’t breathe anymore. The perfume on his clothes is suffocating him and he wants nothing more than to rip all the expensive fabric off his body but he knows that’ll cause him more harm than good. He keeps staring, looking at the bags under his eyes, the way his hair is  _ just slightly  _ too long, the way his clothes are a little too baggy for his body. He stares harder and hates himself more until the door to his room opens, startling him out of the spiral of self deprecation he was falling down. He looks to the doorway, his face devoid of all emotion. His mother is standing there, dressed in a beautiful white and gold gown, a blue shawl over her boney shoulders. He looks her up and down, and she reciprocates. She opens her mouth to say something but quickly closes it, turning and starting to walk back down the long hallway that leads from George's room. George watches her for a moment before his legs start to move by themselves, and before he even realizes, he’s out of his room for the first time in a year, following his mother who had all but abandoned him. 

As much as George doesn’t want to make it look like he cares that he’s been let out, he can’t stop his eyes from roaming the castle halls as he follows his mother. The decorations had changed so much since he’d last been out. Today everything was decked out in white, gold, and hints of blue. There are bouquets of white and yellow flowers in every window, and their floral scent fills the halls. The coats of armor standing outside all of the doors looked like they’d been recently polished, as had the floor under their feet. His mother stops them outside what George remembers to be the throne room. He almost runs into her, confused as to why she stopped. She turns to look at him, and he meets her eyes. She opens her mouth again as if she’s struggling to say something but no words come out. George bites his lip and averts his eyes, his fingers digging into the tender wounds on his palm again. His own mother can’t even speak to him after a year of no contact. 

She stares at him for a second longer, and he pointedly does not look back. With a sigh she turns back around and waves her hand, and the guards open the doors to the throne room before them. She leads the way and George follows, keeping his eyes downcast. The last thing he wants to do is make eye contact with his father. He follows her all the way down the royal red carpet, up the smooth stone stairs until she moves to the left to sit on her throne beside his father. George knows his seat is to his fathers right, but he hesitates. He doesn’t really want to sit there, doesn’t really want to put on a fake smile just so his parents can flaunt that they’re a happy family. It must be obvious that he’s hesitating, thinking too hard about this, because his father clears his throat above him.

“George.” He says, and his gravelly tone makes George jump. 

George clenches his fist again, realizing that the pain keeps him grounded. He raises his head, meeting his fathers eyes. He tries to read the man, see any trace of emotion, of remorse for what he had put his own son through, but there’s nothing. 

“Lord Elliot and his daughter, Lady Fen, are on their way here. You’re to meet with the girl, and you better be on your best behavior.” His father says, and George feels so small standing there under his gaze. 

“Why am I meeting with her?” He asks, his voice coming out a lot shakier than he would’ve liked. 

“Because you’re to be married to her.” Henry replies, as if it was obvious. 

George’s heart clenches in his chest, and he feels like his breakfast is going to make a reappearance. Married? To a girl he’s meeting for the first time  _ in his life  _ today? His father wasn’t serious was he? He looks between his mother and his father, at a loss for words. His mother still won’t meet his eyes, and his father now has an almost evil smirk on his face. He definitely wasn’t joking. George can feel the blood in his palm. 

“Sit down, George.” 

He sits, feeling worse today than he has in months. He gets swept up in his own thoughts, most of them dark and depressing, and he doesn’t really register any of the activity happening around him. Many peasants enter and leave the throne room, asking his father for help, giving him gifts. It feels like a dream, like he’s not really in control of his body but he can see and hear everything that’s happening. His hand hurts from where his nails have reopened the cuts on his palm, and his blood has dried a dark, rusty red. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, zoned out, but it must be a while because his leg goes numb eventually. 

“ _ George!”  _ His father hisses from his right, making him jump. 

He jerks his head up, panicking slightly. He doesn’t want to make his father angry. Not on the first day he’s been out of his room in a year. His father nods towards the throne room doors, so George turns his attention in that direction. The doors open and who he assumes is Lord Elliot and Lady Fen walk in. Lord Elliot is a tall man with fluffy brown hair. He’s wearing long dark brown robes with shimmery green accents. His daughter is wearing a dress of the same material, and she looks so much like her father aside from her hair, which is a very light blonde. She has it held back out of her face, pinned up with an ornate flower pin. George is  _ almost _ ashamed to admit to himself that Elliot is more attractive. Elliot bows in front of his father, goes to kiss his mothers hand, and Fen curtsies gracefully.

“Lord Elliot, Lady Fen.... I hope your journey here was amicable.” Henry says, a politeness that George knows is fake seeping into his tone. 

“Thank you, your majesty. It rained for most of it, but we made it safely. Thank you for inviting us.”

“It’s the least we can do, especially since you so graciously accepted our offer of marriage.” His father replies, smirking. 

There’s that word again,  _ marriage. _ George feels sick again. 

“Oh, yes. Fen was so excited to hear that you’d offered. She’s been quite infatuated with George for some time now. She wouldn’t stop talking about him on the way here.” Elliot says, smiling. 

George looks over at Fen, not surprised to see that the girl is flushed a deep red. He would be too, if his parents just started spilling his feelings in front of strangers. He feels bad for her. She meets his eyes for a second and he looks away quickly, not ready to face the girl he’s supposed to marry. He feels a hand on his shoulder and he looks up to see his mother standing behind him. 

“George… would you be so kind as to show Fen to her room? She’ll be staying across the hall from you.” She says, the words sounding forced. 

He winces at the thought of having to go back to his room, but nods anyways. He stands and offers Fen his hand. She takes it and smiles at him, and George has to force himself to smile back. He can feel his parents eyes on him as he leaves, holding his breath until they’re out of the throne room. He wants nothing more than to let go of Fen’s hand right now, but he knows that he can’t. They walk in a very awkward silence all the way to the guest room, and George considers trying to make small talk but words fail him. When they reach their destination, they finally, thankfully, stop holding hands. Fen looks a little upset at how obviously uncomfortable George is, but he can’t find it in himself to feel bad. She stands in front of him awkwardly, fidgeting, rocking on the balls of her feet. 

“Thank you for showing me to my room, Prince George.” She says, her voice soft and sweet. 

It makes George sad, she seems like a lovely woman. 

“Just- just George is fine.” He replies, not liking how the title sounds in front of his name.

“Ah… okay…” They fall into a too-long awkward silence. 

George chews on his lower lip, trying to think of a way to make this any more bearable. Fen isn’t meeting his eyes, so he takes the opportunity to look at her more closely. Her face is beautiful, fair skin and blue eyes. He looks at the flower pin in her hair, and he gets an idea. 

“Hey… would you like to go see the flower gardens with me?” 

Her face immediately lights up, and George thinks it’s adorable how excited she seems to get. 

“I would love to see the gardens with you George.” She says with a smile, and George leads the way. 

The gardens are absolutely stunning this time of year, and George has missed them so much. The colors are beautiful and he just wants to lay in them. Fen follows him over to the same gazebo where he was caught, and they sit on the bench there, looking out over the flowers. George discovers that Fen is incredibly easy to talk to, and that they both share a passion for flora. Eventually, the conversation turns from cheerful flower talk to the issue that they’re both thinking about. 

“George.” She says, turning to him. “I’m going to be completely honest with you because you seem like a wonderful person…” 

He knows this can go one of two ways, and he hopes for the easier one. 

“I don’t really want to marry you. My father wants this union because it’ll benefit our people.” She says, her face serious. 

George feels like he can breathe again. 

“Fen, I- I don’t want to marry you either.” He admits, and it feels like a weight has fallen from his shoulders. 

“We have to, though, you know? We don’t get a choice here.” She sounds sympathetic, like she’s already come to terms with the fact that she can’t get out of this. 

“I know. Trust me, I know that I don’t have a choice. My parents have never given me a choice.” He says, his cheerful mood from minutes earlier gone. 

“Really? They seem very nice-”

Fen is cut off by George’s mother, who he can now see is storming through the gardens towards them. She looks infuriated and it makes George tense, ready to flee. 

“What are you doing out here, George? We asked you to take Fen to her room, not go galavanting outside in the gardens!” She’s yelling at him by the end of the sentence. 

Fen looks startled, like she doesn’t know what to do. 

“It’s fine, your majesty, really, I asked him to show me-” She tries to defend him, but his mother cuts her off with a glare. 

“Come with me George. Now.” His mother demands, turning and walking away. 

George knows it’ll be worse if he doesn’t follow. 

“I’m so sorry, Fen, I’ll see you later.” He apologizes, rushing after his mother. 

She leads him back into the castle and stops outside his room. He stops behind her, not wanting to go back in there just yet. She turns to him, her arms crossed. 

“Mother, please, I was just showing her the gardens- I- I saw the pin in her hair and I thought she’d like to see them…” He trails off when his mother starts tapping her fingers against her arm. 

“Get in your room, George.” 

“Please- I don’t want to go back in there yet, please…” He begs, squeezing his hand into a fist again. 

“Now, George, don’t make me ask again.” 

“I swear there was nothing else to it, we were just looking at the flowers-” 

His mother grabs his wrist and yanks him close, their faces barely two inches apart. 

“I don’t  _ care  _ if there was nothing else. You  _ know  _ you’re not allowed to be there.” She says, her voice dangerously low. 

“I’m sorry…” He whimpers, the grip on his wrist painful now. 

She scoffs in his face and shoves him back into his room. He trips over his robes and falls, landing on his wrist, pain exploding up his arm. He scrambles to turn around, tears in his eyes. The last thing he sees is his mothers face, red with anger, before the door slams in his face. He lets out a sob and cradles his throbbing wrist to his chest, vaguely wondering if it’s sprained. He doesn’t even bother to move from his spot on the floor, he just curls up and cries, wondering what he did to deserve this. He eventually falls asleep there, tear tracks dried on his face. 

He’s woken up by a loud noise outside his window, and he sits up, hissing in pain. He can’t see where the noise has come from, but he can see that the bars on his window are just… gone? He stands up and moves toward the window, only to be stopped by something cold and  _ sharp  _ against the side of his neck. He freezes, his breath getting caught in his chest. He hears footsteps to the side and soon enough the intruder comes into view. George figures the man is almost half a foot taller than him, and he’s absolutely terrified. He’s wearing a white mask with a slightly menacing smiley face, and the moonlight catches all the details. He can see green eyes. He panics, tries to flee. He doesn’t get very far before he’s pushed against the wall, his hands pinned above his head by one of the intruders hands, the other  _ still _ holding that razor sharp blade against his throat. He whimpers in pain at the pressure on his sprained wrist, desperately trying to hold his own weight up.

“Keep quiet or I kill you right here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phewwwwwwww..............  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, next chapter we are back into Dream's POV as our boys finally meet. How do you think their meeting is going to go? 
> 
> Talk to me in the comments, I need the validation and I love talking to you guys. Your support has made me so happy :)
> 
> PS: I wrote a one-shot to the song treehouse by Alex G. It's a short read with some angst and a happy ending, go check it out if you're interested!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say 3600 words of spicy DNF meetup? Yes? No? Here it is anyways. It might not be the meetup yall thought you were getting but it's the one we all deserve, I think. 
> 
> Beta'd by Sam (again)

Patches had dutifully carried Dream into the village, unperturbed by the crying man on her back. His eyes were burning from the wind and the salt but the pain was almost welcome. He guided her to a building with a sign creaking in the wind that signified they’d just arrived at the local inn. He slides off her back, his legs and arms sore from how tight he’d gripped her. He ruffles her mane before going inside, straightening his mask before anyone can see him. The innkeeper looks up from where he’s writing in some book, eyeing Dream warily. Dream looks around, inhaling the scent of sawdust and cooking meat, his stomach rumbling loudly in the quiet room. He makes his way through the tables and up to the counter, dropping a small bag of gold in front of the man. 

“I need a room for a couple nights. I’ve got a horse too.” He says, his voice low and rough from crying and sleeping. 

The innkeeper opens the bag and peers inside. What he sees must please him because he hums and slips the bag into his pocket, sliding a stone key across the counter to Dream. 

“First door on the left at the top of the stairs. Tommy will be out to take care of your horse soon.” 

Dream nods and steps back outside to get his belongings from Patches. As he takes his gear off her back, he spots two boys in the stable beside the inn. He assumes one of them is Tommy, seeing as both of the boys are caring for the other horses in the stable. He doesn’t know how much he trusts two random kids with his horse, but he’s exhausted and already behind schedule. He slides his pack onto one shoulder, making sure his weapons are safely tucked away. With another pat to his horse’s back, he heads back inside for the rest of the night. His room is clean, cozy, and small, but it has a window on the right and a plush looking bed pressed against the wall. He drops his pack and lays on the bed, groaning as the cool sheets caress his aching body. He doesn’t bother to change, he just rolls onto this stomach and passes out. 

When he wakes again, the scent of chicken and savory broth fill his nostrils. He opens his eyes with a small groan, looking around. There’s a bowl of what he assumes is chicken soup on his nightstand, a glass of water next to it. He looks out the small window and sees that the sun is just starting to come down from its apex. He’s still behind schedule, but he desperately needed the rest and he knows he’ll have more than enough time to do what he needs to do. He sits up fully, leaning against the headboard of the bed before grabbing the bowl of soup. He blows on it before spooning it into his mouth, the taste surprising him. He didn’t expect it to be bad, but he didn’t expect it to be this good either. He finishes it quickly, gulping down the glass of water. He slips out of the bed and stretches, straightening out his gear. He needs to head out and start scouting out the castle. He decides to leave his weapons behind, opting for stealth. 

As he leaves the inn, he makes a note of the shops in the area. He can see the townspeople bustling about, and there seems to be an urgency in the air. Dream makes his way to the town square, taking in all the decorations that the people are setting up. He grabs someone’s arm as they go to walk past him. 

“What’s going on today?”

“We’re decorating for Lady Fen’s arrival tomorrow! Her and Prince George are to be married!” 

Dream lets them go, turning to look at the castle. He’d heard of Prince George, but never of Lady Fen. It didn’t make his job any easier, having to now deal with the fact that there seems to be a festival of sorts going on. He’d just have to hope that he didn’t run into Prince George or Lady Fen, because he didn’t particularly like having to hurt people who are not his target. He starts to make his way closer to the castle, making mental notes of where all the guards are stationed, and what doors he could possibly have access to. He eventually settles on scouting out the southwest side of the castle, which has three windows on it, two of which stay almost lifeless all day long. The sun starts to set relatively quickly, and Dream knows he needs to get back to the inn so he can flesh out the rest of his plan for the next day. 

It doesn’t take him very long to get back, the village streets empty now that the sun has gone down. He slips in the door, staying quiet amongst the loud drunks that occupy the lower level of the building. Once in his room, he sits cross legged on the floor and draws out a rough map of the castle and the surrounding area. He eventually decides that he’ll camp out in the willow tree that’s closest to the windows at the south until it’s dark, and then he’ll make his move. After the sun has fully set, he’ll break into one of the empty rooms and sneak into the castle from there. It should be flawlessly executed, assuming he doesn’t run into any guards or people once he’s inside those huge stone walls. He leans back against the wooden bedframe, sighing. This trip was turning out to be too easy, and he was already dreading having to go home and be alone with his thoughts. He stashes his map in his bag and stands, moving around to sit on top of the bed, slipping off his boots and sliding his legs under the soft covers. He lays there and stares at the ceiling, a familiar sense of anticipation settling into his bones. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep again, warm, comfortable, and somewhat excited for the next day’s events. 

The sounds of children running around and shrieking in the streets outside his window are what wake him the next morning. He sits up in bed and looks at the plate of food that’s been left on his nightstand. It’s a simple bowl of oats but he inhales it happily, not one to turn down free food. He slides out of bed and pulls his boots back on, taking his time to tighten them right as he winds the laces all the way up his calves. He feels much better after a full night's sleep, and he’s ready to get back into the hunt. He’s so close to his prey, all he needs is for night to fall again and he’ll make his move. Before he leaves his room, he takes his time to straighten out his arrows and clean his weapons, making sure they’re all nice and pretty for later. He’s overconfident today, excited for this part of his hunt and  _ so sure _ that he knows how it will go, that he’s not even anxious or worried for the rest of the day. He smiles at the innkeeper on his way out, despite the fact that he’s wearing his mask. He goes to retrieve Patches from the stable, pleased to see that she looks content with her accommodations. He makes a mental note to thank the boys later, as they’re nowhere to be seen right now. 

He steers Patches through the village and towards the looming castle in the distance. There’s many more people in the streets today, and more decorations have popped up since Dream slept. As Dream starts to make his way up the main path that leads to the castle, he’s ushered off the road by a constable to make way for a grand procession that’s behind him. There’s about ten horses, four in front, two pulling a carriage, and four behind. The men riding them are all dressed in a shimmery green and black fabric and they have long swords with black handles sheathed at their sides. Dream can only assume that Lady Fen is in that carriage. He watches the procession move with a careful eye, thinking about the different ways this mission could go because of this event. As he rides closer to the castle, far behind the procession, he considers changing his plan but when he sees the window he’d spotted the night before, he decides to just trust his gut and follow through. 

He needs to find a place to leave Patches when he goes into the castle, because she’s integral to his escape plan and he needs her to be hidden. He goes to the forest that’s about a mile from the castle walls, slightly uphill which makes it less likely that the guards will see her there. He ties her lead to a tree and gives her a once over, making sure all his gear is secured for the hasty getaway he’s going to need to make later. He opts to leave all his weapons except his knives here, figuring they’re the smallest and easiest for him to use in close combat, even though he knows it won’t be much of a fight. He feeds her an apple and various other scraps he has with him as they both wait for the day to turn to night. After about an hour or so of just sitting in the shadows with Patches, he decides to get closer to the castle, wanting to know if he can glean any information about the newcomers or the festivities that are happening today. He follows the tree line as close as he can get before sprinting across the open lawn and taking cover in the shade of a massive stone pillar attached to the castle walls. He looks up, surveying the best way up the wall before deciding to just scale it. 

Dream’s skilled in freehand climbing, so it doesn’t take him very long to climb his way up the wall. Once at the top, he can stand on a thin stone wall that connects two of the towers, and there are plenty of stone turrets that he can duck behind should someone happen to glance his way. From here, he can see inside the massive outer stone walls. Inside the castle walls, protected and safe, lay a multitude of buildings. The most ornate building in the center is most likely the throne room, if this royal family is anything like all the others that Dream has dealt with in the past. There are many smaller buildings attached to this main one, and they’re all connected by tall tunnels with huge glass windows between them. He can see the tower with the window he’ll be using from here. He’s glad to see that even from this vantage point, the room looks devoid of life. He can see an empty wardrobe and some empty bookshelves from here, but that’s it. He turned his attention to the throne room again, catching glimpses of what’s happening through the windows. He watches for the better part of the afternoon, having seen at least twenty seven different townspeople both enter and exit the throne room. As the sun begins to set, he watches who he assumes is Lady Fen and an older gentleman enter the throne room, and half an hour later they still haven’t exited, so Dream is pretty sure that business is done for the day. 

He silently makes his way back down the castle walls and across the shadowy lawn until he’s well into the forest again. He meets back up with Patches and makes himself a quick dinner of a simple sandwich he’d gotten from the village earlier. The sky darkens and the lights in the village die out and are relit in oil lanterns for the night. Once he’s done eating, Dream leaves Patches in the forest and draws his hood over the edges of his mask, making his way back towards the castle for the final time. He climbs up into the tree and waits for the moon to rise high into the sky, casting ethereal light over the dewy grass underneath him. Dream has been watching this window for the past two hours and he’s seen no movement, so now is the time for him to go. He quietly drops down from the tree and snakes his way across the grass, unseen. He starts to climb up the wall under his designated window, reaching the ledge in no time. The room inside is pitch black, silent. He needs to work on getting the bars off, and upon closer inspection, he can tell that they’re barely attached to the wall to begin with. He climbs above the window and grips the other ledge, kicking at the bars with his foot. At the third kick, the bars break off the window with a noisy metallic snap, and thankfully fall into the grass with a dull thud.

Without wasting any more time, he slips into the window and lands in the room, standing completely still when he enters. He can hear something, a quiet, noise sound that sounds like breathing. As his eyes adjust to the room, he can see the wardrobe and bookshelf from earlier, but he can also see a bed with blankets strewn across it. A glint of something catches his eye and he turns toward it, his gaze falling lower, to the ground. His sharp inhale sounds deafening to him, and he holds his breath as he reaches for one of his knives. The glint he’d seen earlier was  _ gold _ and that gold was part of a  _ crown  _ and that crown was  _ on a boys head. _ Dream stands completely still as this boy sits up, looking comically disoriented and confused. The crown sits askew on his messy short brown hair, and even in the low light of this room, Dream can see the dried red tear tracks on his face. He looks pathetic sitting there in his messed up royal attire, cradling his arm to his chest. Dream has to move, and fast, he can’t risk whoever this is giving away his location.

_ ‘Prince George, possibly?’  _ A voice in the back of his head asks.

The boy goes to stand and Dream immediately responds, holding his dangerously sharp knife against fair skin. He hears a small gasp and smirks behind his mask, pleased to know that he’s effectively scared the guy. He keeps his knife up as he moves around, stepping in front of the boy. From this close he can see how absolutely terrified the boy is, his warm brown eyes filled with watery fear. He almost drops his knife, feeling  _ something  _ for this poor soul, but then he goes to run and Dream snaps, slamming him against the cold stone wall, pinning both of his bony wrists above his head with one hand. He presses the tip of the knife into the boy's skin and glares, daring him to do  _ anything _ . 

“Keep quiet or I kill you right here.” He says, his voice dangerously low. 

The boy in his grasp whimpers, straining to stand on his tip toes. He almost feels remorseful, figures he’s probably hurting him, but his own sense of safety keeps him from entertaining that thought.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you!” The boy cries out indignantly, and it makes Dream growl, the tip of his knife drawing a bead of blood from the soft skin under it. 

“George! My name’s George…”  _ Prince George  _ sobs, going limp in Dream’s grasp. “Please- please don’t hurt me…” He whimpers, a pained moan escaping his lips as Dream presses harder on his wrists. 

Dream looks George up and down, taking in the way his skin looks unnaturally pale, how his clothes hang off his body more than they should, the way his hair gets in his eyes with his head hung like this. It doesn’t take long for him to put two and two together and decide that the prince is not a threat to him or his mission. He lets go of his wrists and George slides to the ground on his knees, holding his wrist close with a quiet whimper. He keeps his eyes down, as if he’s afraid to look at the intruder. Dream goes to the heavy metal door and tugs on the handle, hearing the lock on the other side. 

_ Why is the door locked from the outside?  _

He curses under his breath but gets down on one knee in front of the keyhole, gazing into it. It’s a relatively simple lock, and he’s confident he can pick it. He pulls out a lockpick kit he always carried in his coat and gets to work, selecting the tools and holding his breath so he can hear the clicks. He’s almost gotten it open when he hears a shout from outside. He curses louder this time and shoves his tools back into his coat, running to the window. Down below, three guards are standing around the discarded bars and looking straight up at George’s window. 

“The prince is trying to escape!” One of them yells to his companions. 

_ Escape? Why would he need to escape? _

There’s some more shouting and then the sound of running feet and clanging armor. He won’t have much time before those guards alert the ones inside the castle, and then they’ll all be on him in a matter of minutes. He gets his mild panic under control, looking around the room frantically. His eyes settle on George and before he knows it he’s in front of him, grabbing him by the uninjured wrist and tugging him to his feet. He still looks absolutely terrified, his eyes blown wide with a fear that Dream  _ almost  _ likes. 

“I need to get out of here before those guards arrive, and I’ve just decided it’s your lucky day. You get to come with.” Dream says with a smirk, tugging George impossibly closer.

He loves the way the prince barely struggles, staring up at him. His words seem to spur some sort of emotion into George though, because after he registers what Dream has just said, he starts flailing and twisting in his grasp, trying to escape. 

“No! Please- I can’t- I can’t leave-” His breath is coming out fast and sharp, and Dream wonders if he’s about to have a panic attack. 

“It wasn’t an invitation, your highness, you’re coming with me whether you like it or not.” 

He lets go of George and leaves him to cower in the corner as Dream quickly fashions a rope out of the bedsheets on his bed, tying one end to the heavy metal handle on the door. He ties the other end around both of George’s wrists and then hoists George up in a firefighter type hold, tying the sheets tight around his body, making sure George is secured to his back. Dream knew he was strong and that lifting the shorter man would be easy, but George was disturbingly light. 

“Don’t make a sound and maybe I won’t drop you to your death.” Dream hisses, tightening the knots. 

It’ll be awkward to get both of them to the ground safely, but Dream is confident in his ability to escape this castle  _ and  _ he’ll get to take a hostage with him. He gets them out of the window and uses the makeshift rope to get a good portion of the way to the ground, but he’s going to have to hang there and cut the rope to get them both down the last five or so feet. They both hit the ground with a thud, a pained noise escaping George’s mouth. Dream stands awkwardly, cutting the part of the sheets that attach George to him. He pulls George to his feet by the sheet around his wrists, tugging him towards the tree line. 

“Wait- please! I- I don’t want to go-” George hiccups, tears streaming down his face. 

Dream has to remind himself that he  _ definitely should not care about how his hostage feels in this situation  _ but something about the way George looks when he’s crying makes him feel some sort of distant emotion in his chest.

_ Empathy? Pity? _

“If you don’t get a fucking move on, I’m going to leave you to bleed out right here. You wouldn’t want your poor parents waking up to see their son dead in the lawn, would you?” 

The threat is harsh but George gets it, Dream can see the panic in his eyes, closing his mouth and violently shaking his head. Dream smirks to himself and continues pulling the prince toward the treeline where Patches is patiently waiting. He’s just gotten the smaller man situated on Patches back when an arrow whizzes past his head and embeds itself in the hard wood of a tree a few feet to the right. He licks his lips and looks over his shoulder, watching the guards running across the lawn towards them. As he climbs onto Patches, he wraps his arm around George’s waist to hold him in place and kicks off, spurring the horse away from the guards. They take off at speeds George clearly isn’t ready for, because the prince groans and raises his bound hands to shield his eyes from the biting wind. 

“Hold on tight, your highness. I don’t intend on letting you go that easily.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, as it includes a huge plot point, obviously. We're finally getting to the nice meaty parts of the story. 
> 
> I don't know how much this will affect this story but, I'm a junior in college and my semester (which is 100% online and I HATE online classes) started today and I already know it's going to super stressful. Hopefully it doesn't affect my ability to write for you guys, but it might, and I apologize. 
> 
> Again, don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, and subscribe to the work if you'd like to receive email updates when I post new chapters!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We hit 2000 reads today! Thank you guys so much for all the support on this story, it means SO MUCH. 
> 
> No beta on this chapter, I was too excited to give it to you guys. 
> 
> 3700 words.

George eventually falls silent in front of Dream, just as he had been getting used to the small noises of complaint that the prince would make every now and then. Dream keeps riding through the night, knowing he has to get as far away from the kingdom as physically possible. It had never been the plan to take a hostage, and the longer Dream rides in the silence, the more he berates himself for being so  _ fucking stupid. _ Why did he think that this was going to be a good idea? All he had to do was kill the king and get out. That would’ve been easy for him. Instead, he was now a fugitive on the run and he’d kidnapped  _ the prince _ of all people. Now he had to get away and find somewhere to hide, somewhere to figure out  _ what the fuck he’s going to do.  _ He briefly considers going back to his home, he even considers asking Sapnap for some input. He knows he can trust the other assassin, but they’ve never done something like this so he has no idea how his friend is going to react. Dream gets so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize that Patches has slowed to a trot, most likely exhausted from running all night. He looks around, taking in their surroundings. The moon is just starting to slide behind the trees in front of them, and there appear to be no signs of human life in the immediate area. 

Dream picks a tight clump of trees and steers them over, sliding off of Patches’ back as his muscles groan in protest. He stretches, hearing his back and shoulders pop in the silence. George is still unconscious, and Dream tries to be as careful as he can as he pulls the prince off his horse’s back, cradling his body in his arms. He carries the sleeping prince under the tree cover and sets him in the grass, where his body relaxes against the Earth and his head falls to the side, exposing the fair skin of his throat. Dream takes a moment to stare, his eyes roaming the prince’s face. He got a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, messy hair that needs a trim and long eyelashes. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, and Dream almost feels bad for the trauma that he’s inevitably going to get from being kidnapped by the man who’s going to kill his father. He quickly shakes himself out of this train of thought, remembering that  _ it’s his job _ and the prince is  _ his hostage. _ Still, this doesn’t stop him from pulling a travel blanket out of his pack and covering him up with it. 

Dream figures it’s safe enough for him to make a fire, and he could definitely use some fresh food. He quickly builds a small campfire on the edge of the treeline and gets it lit, admiring his own work as he stands up. He doesn’t have any meat to cook, but he figures that there’s plenty of wildlife in the forest, it just depends on how far he can go before George wakes up. He grabs his crossbow from his pack and leaves the clearing they’ve made, going far enough into the woods that he can barely hear his horse grazing and moving around. He hopes that if George does wake up, Patches will be his makeshift alarm and let him know. After a couple of seconds surveying the land, Dream picks a nice tall oak and climbs up into it, just enough so that he’s covered by the leaves, and he waits. The minutes tick by slowly, but eventually Dream can hear the forest come back to life as the animals let their guards down and come back out of hiding. Not even twenty minutes later, he spots a fat rabbit down below him and he quickly shoots it, jumping down from his hiding spot to collect his prize, tying it to his belt. He gets another two rabbits before he goes back to camp, figuring that they can both have one now and save the third for later. 

When he gets back, George is still sleeping, but he’s now curled himself into a ball like a child, the blanket pulled tight around him. Dream smiles at how innocent and peaceful the prince looks, briefly wondering how old he is. Dream is twenty-one, and he figured that George couldn’t be that much older. Either way, he looks way younger when he sleeps, and Dream makes a note to maybe bring up his age if they talk later. As Dream skins and cooks the rabbits, he wonders if this situation he’s gotten himself into will be beneficial at all. Weirdly, he’s already looking forward to having someone to talk to, even though he feels kind of ridiculous, considering the prince owes him nothing, and he wouldn’t be surprised if George chose to stay quiet. The rabbits are almost done cooking when George stirs himself awake, and Dream stops what he’s doing to watch, not too concerned about the prince trying to escape, but still wary. George sits up slowly, the blanket falling into his lap. He looks around, taking in his surroundings. He seems more confused now than he did when Dream first found him, but he’s not panicking yet. 

“Where are we?” George asks, his voice quiet and clogged with sleep.    
  
Dream shrugs. He’s not even sure. 

“The woods somewhere. Far away from civilization.” 

“Who are you?” 

Dream turns to face George, meeting his eyes. They’re dark brown, like wet soil or melted chocolate. The innocence in them makes Dream forget what he was going to say for a second.

“Uh… Dream. My name’s Dream.” He eventually answers, tearing his eyes away from George’s and returning his attention to the food. 

“Why are you wearing that mask?” 

“Personal reasons.” Dream’s answer is short, and he knows his tone comes off harsher than intended. 

George goes silent for a while after that, and Dream doesn’t instigate further conversation. The rabbit finishes during their silence, and Dream wordlessly pulls the tender meat off the bones. He can feel George watching him, waiting. Dream puts the meat into a small wooden bowl and holds it out to the prince, still not meeting his eyes. George takes it, holding it in his lap. 

“Why are we here?” 

How is he supposed to answer this question? 

“Uh… Well…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking at the fire. “I broke into your castle and you happened to be there so… I sort of kidnapped you. I had to.” The words are blunt and they feel weird in Dream’s mouth. 

“Oh.” 

Dream grimaces at the defeated tone of George’s voice. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so blunt about the reality of the situation, but he felt it was better to tell the prince the truth now rather than later. He starts to eat his portion of rabbit, almost groaning at how good it tastes. He hadn’t had meat to eat in a while. He glances up at George to see the other man picking at his portion for a few moments, before his hunger gets the best of him and he starts eating. The two sit in silence, eating the food, listening to the crackle of the fire. When they finish, Dream rinses the bowls with some water and puts them back in his pack, leaning against a tree. 

“Can I go back?” George’s question breaks their awkward silence. 

Dream turns to look at him, raising his eyebrows under his mask. 

“I think you know the answer to that one, your highness.” 

“Can you not call me that?” His voice sounds strained, and Dream raises his eyebrows. 

“But that’s your title isn’t it? You’re Prince George.” 

“I know! I- I know. Just… please.” 

Dream is startled by George raising his voice, sitting up straighter. He notes how tense George looks, how he’s not looking at Dream. He can see the blood in the palm of his hand and he reaches out, grabbing George’s wrist. 

“Okay, okay, just.. stop doing that. You’re hurting yourself.” He says, his voice low. 

George stares at him, his eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Dream lets go of his wrist and moves to pull out his makeshift first aid kit, scooting closer to the prince. 

“What did you do to your wrist?” 

“I… my mother pushed me and I fell on it. I think it’s sprained.” George answers quietly, looking away from Dream again. 

Dream furrows his eyebrows as he processes what George just told him. His mother pushed him? Why? This question brings his other question to the front of his mind again. Why was George locked in his room? Why had the guards said he was escaping? He was the Prince, surely he could go wherever he wanted? Dream senses that George is uncomfortable, though, so he doesn’t ask. He carefully grabs George’s injured wrist again and the prince jumps, looking at him once more. 

“I’m going to set it and put a makeshift splint on it okay? It should make it hurt less.”

George doesn’t respond but he doesn’t pull his wrist away either, so Dream gets to work. He peels a thick piece of bark off a nearby tree and trims it into a rectangle shape, setting it to the side. He pulls the roll of bandages out of the first aid kit and cuts a section off, carefully wrapping it around George’s thin wrist. He puts the piece of bark on the underside of George’s wrist, positioning it so the prince’s wrist bone is in the middle. 

“Hold this here for me.” Dream says distractedly and George complies, holding it in place. 

Dream starts wrapping the bandage around George’s wrist, tight enough to stabilize the bark but not tight enough to cut off circulation. Once he’s satisfied with how it looks, he cuts the bandage and secures it, letting go of George’s wrist. 

“Try not to move it too much and it should be okay.” Dream mumbles, digging around in the first aid kit some more. 

“Thank you.” George replies quietly, pulling his wrist back, inspecting Dream’s work. 

“Give me your hand, too. Don’t need the cuts on your palm getting infected.” 

George complies again, offering Dream his other hand. It looks bad, dried blood and fresh blood stand out against the prince’s skin. Dream wets a rag with some water and starts to wipe at the blood, being as gentle as he can. Despite his best efforts, George still squirms and whimpers when it hurts. Thankfully, the cuts aren’t as bad as the blood makes them look, and Dream is satisfied with just wrapping a bandage around his palm. Once he’s done, he packs his supplies back up and puts the first aid kit away, standing up slowly. George stays sitting, looking at his hands. 

“Why are you helping me? You’re the reason I’m here so why do you care if I’m hurt or not?” He asks, still not looking at Dream. 

Dream stops, and he too wonders why he cares. Why does it matter to him if George is in pain or not? 

“If I leave you injured, I have to listen to you complain about it.” Dream doesn’t know why he says this, he knows that there’s more to it than that, but he’s not quite sure what else there is, so he just leaves that lie hanging in the air.

His words seem to sting, and he watches as George deflates a little. 

“Sorry- I didn’t mean it like that…” Dream quickly apologizes, hating how the confidence has drained from his voice. 

George doesn’t say anything. He just nods and lays back down in the grass, his back to Dream. Dream sighs to himself and stands up, feeling incredibly awkward. He doesn’t understand why their relationship dynamic is already so  _ weird _ . He doesn’t really know what he expected, though, if he’s being honest. He did kind of  _ kidnap  _ the guy. Still, outside of the awkward small talk they’ve made, Dream still feels confused about his own thoughts. He’s never felt this awkward around another person, and it’s really throwing him off. He chews on his bottom lip as he casts a quick glance at George again, wondering once more about what they’re going to do from here. 

He reaches into his pack and pulls out the tools he needs to brush Patches down, deciding that he needs something to distract himself. Patches whinnies appreciatively as Dream pulls the heavy saddle and pack off of her back, setting it all out in the grass. She gives him a thoughtful look before going back to grazing, letting Dream brush her. Sometimes he wonders what she would say to him if she could speak. She’d probably tell him he’s stupid, for this and for most of the other stupid shit Dream does. His thoughts drift as he brushes her, and he finds himself thinking more and more about home. Not his current home, but his childhood one. He could see some of the same signs of abuse in George, and it made his chest ache. He wants to ask about it, figure out what was going on, but how do you even approach that subject? He looks at George again, who is now fast asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. Maybe he had inadvertently saved the prince? 

Dream shakes his head and scoffs, resuming his brushing. There was  _ no way _ that the life George had ahead of him with Dream was better than what he had at the castle. He was a  _ prince  _ for Christ’s sake! Dream didn’t take him hostage to help him, or to be his friend. He took him hostage because he had gotten in the way, and now Dream needed to think of a new way to achieve his goal. George was just a tool to help him get there, and nothing else. He needed to get George back to his village, and then he’d go to Sapnap. The other man would at least have some different ideas of how to go about this. Two heads were better than one right? He’d probably have to give Sapnap some sort of pay, but it was worth it if it got him out of this situation. Dream finishes brushing Patches and puts all his gear away, going to lay in the grass on the opposite side of the dying fire to George. It’s still dark out but the horizon is just starting to lighten, and he figures he can get at least a couple hours of sleep. 

He wakes to Patches huffing in his ear, insistently nudging his head with her snout. He grumbles, swatting at her. She huffs again, nudging him harder. He sits up, glaring at her. She ignores him and looks pointedly in George’s- wait. Dream sits up straight, suddenly wide awake. George was gone. The grass where he had been laying was still depressed, leading Dream to think the prince couldn’t have gone far. Dream stands, listening for any sounds in the forest. Of course there’s nothing, so Dream opts to head in the direction of the river, moving quickly and quietly through the underbrush. Eventually he comes to a clearing that leads to the riverbank and he stops in his tracks. Crouched at the edge of the water is George, scooping water into his hands and drinking it. Dream takes a few steps closer, but he steps on a slippery rock and has to put his hands out to stop himself from falling. George stands up so fast he stumbles, taking a few steps backwards, almost into the water, when he sees Dream. 

“Leave me alone!” He shouts, panic evident in his voice. 

Dream stands, holding his hands out. George’s face is flushed and he’s already breathing hard, looking like prey that’s just been caught. 

“You know I can’t do that George.” 

George frantically looks around, trying to see a viable escape route. To his left and right is more forest, behind him is the river, and directly in front of him is Dream. He doesn’t really have many options. Dream tries to move closer, but his movement sets George off and the prince runs, dodging Dream and heading back into the forest. Dream takes off after him, and George never leaves his sight. Dream’s not particularly worried, he knows he’s faster than George and he’s excellent at tracking, so even if the prince managed to leave his sight, he would be able to track him down. To George’s credit, however, he is a surprisingly good runner. He manages to stay  _ just  _ out of Dream’s range, but they both know he can’t keep this up forever. 

They run through the forest, jumping over big roots and ducking under low hanging branches. George is running out of stamina, though, and he starts to gradually slow. His undoing is his cloak, the heavy wool getting snagged on a branch that George is devastatingly unable to pull free from. He’s stuck, and before he can even get the piece of clothing off, Dream is on him. He slams into the prince from behind, tackling him to the ground. Both of them are breathing heavily, and George struggles under Dream, punching and kicking at him. His foot connects with Dream’s jaw and he swears, losing his balance. George scrambles out from under him, trying to get to his feet but Dream grabs his ankle and pulls him back, sitting on his hips. Dream pulls George’s hands behind his back and holds them there as the prince struggles, futilely trying to escape. Dream catches his breath, watching the prince writhe underneath him. He had given Dream a good chase, but this was inevitable. 

“Let me go!” He yells again, desperately trying to throw Dream off. 

Dream grips George’s wrists tighter and settles his full weight on the prince’s hips and the man whimpers, going still under Dream. 

“ _ Please. _ ” 

Dream’s chest aches again, and he quickly wills the unnamed feeling away. 

“I  _ can’t _ .”

“I just want to go back, please Dream…”

Dreams breath catches in his chest at the way his name sounds when it comes out of George’s mouth. 

“You KNOW I can’t, George. I’m a wanted man because I snagged you, and they’d throw me in jail the second they saw me.” Dream says, but he loosens his grip on George’s wrists. 

“They won’t, please, I’ll tell them you helped me, tell them you saved my life, please- please I just want-” George’s begging is cut off by a low sob in his throat. 

Dream is so confused by George’s show of emotion. He could put two and two together and easily figure out that George was a victim of abuse, so why did he want to go back so badly? Back to his parents, who locked George in his room, who starved him, who pushed him around like he was nothing. 

“You’re not going back, George, and that’s final. Try and escape like this again and I’ll tie your ankles together and sling you over the horses’ back.” Dream growls out, letting go of George’s wrists and standing up. 

George scrambles to his feet and holds his sprained wrist against his chest, like it’s hurting. It probably is and Dream has to tell himself to  _ stop caring. _ The prince looks so hurt, though, and Dream  _ can’t stop _ . His chest aches again and he wants to apologize, tell George that it will be okay and that he’s not going to hurt him. He just needs him as leverage to get closer to his father but Dream  _ will _ keep him safe. But Dream knows he can’t. He can’t tell George any of these things, or he’ll risk getting attached. Getting attached was the last thing he planned on doing. 

“Do I need to tie your hands again or are you going to follow?” He asks, giving him a warning glance. 

George glares at him and looks at the ground, refusing to meet Dream’s eyes after that. He follows Dream back to their little camp without any complaints, and the silence is almost deafening. George slumps down against a tree and fiddles with the grass at his feet as Dream moves around, dampening the fire and getting Patches ready to ride again. Dream feels upset, with George and with himself, and he hates it. He hates feeling things like this, he doesn’t know how to handle them and he always ends up panicking. He wishes Sapnap were here so he could ask him for advice, and this thought further solidifies his decision to go see the other man when they get back. When he’s done getting Patches ready, he moves to George’s side, offering the man his hand. George looks at it, but he doesn’t take it. 

“Let’s go George. We need to move.” 

George huffs and glares at his hand like he’s trying to burn a hole through it. 

“Now,  _ your highness _ .” George’s head snaps up so fast and he scowls, clearly pissed, but he takes Dream’s hand anyways, and accepts his help in climbing on Patches.

Dream slides into the saddle behind him, but he doesn’t hold George like he did last time. It seems he would be getting the silent treatment for a while, though he figures that works for him. Less conversation means less to get attached to, right? Right. Dream kicks off and they start at a trot in the direction of home, speeding up more when they exit the forest. The hot sun beats down on them from above, and soon both of them are sweating, but neither is complaining. If they keep this pace they might be back by the end of the day. The more time they spent together, the more Dream regretted having taken George hostage. He’s never felt less confident than he does right now, and he wanted it to be over. He  _ really  _ hopes Sapnap will be able to help him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we think? How are we feeling? Do you think Sapnap will be of any help? Is George going to be okay? He seems like he's going through it rn ngl. 
> 
> Anyways, you know the drill, don't be afraid to comment, leave kudos, and subscribe if you want to receive email updates when I post new chapters! Thank you so much for reading :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this chapter is shorter than the last one but it felt right to just have a chapter dedicated to George and Sapnap meeting, and to Dream and Sapnap talking. This chapter is very dialogue heavy for this reason. It also includes platonic Dreamnap cuddling :)
> 
> Sorry this took as long as it did, college is already kicking my ass. 
> 
> No beta this time either

The ride back to Dream’s village is silent, which suits both of Patches’ riders just fine. George was still upset with Dream, understandably, and Dream was still not ready to deal with George. By the time they get back, the sun has already set and the moon is starting to rise once more. The air is cool and crisp on their faces, and the streets of the village are eerily silent. Should Dream go and get Sapnap now or should he wait until the morning? If he goes now, there’s less chance of someone spotting George and reporting them to the authorities. If he goes in the morning.... He’d have to spend the night with George again  _ and  _ risk getting spotted. Tonight will have to do, he decides, and steers Patches in the direction of his friends house instead. When they pull up outside, Dream gets off first and secures Patches before offering George his hand again. George ignores him and makes an attempt to get off on his own, which he almost manages, but his foot gets stuck and he ends up face first in the dirt. 

Dream has to resist laughing at the poor man, but a small snicker still escapes his lips. George glares daggers at him before standing, brushing himself off. The sound of Patches and of George falling must’ve alerted Sapnap, because they can hear movement inside the small wooden house, and not even a minute later the door opens and Dream is greeted with a sword in his face. Sapnap looks pissed but once he registers who’s at his door, he drops his sword and breaks into a huge smile, pulling Dream in for a hug. He hugs the shorter man back briefly before pulling away, taking a deep breath. He’s about to go and explain himself, but of course Sapnap is already a step ahead of him and is staring at George. George doesn’t make eye contact, eyes down, shifting from foot to foot like he’s nervous. 

“Who’s this?” Sapnap asks, not taking his eyes off the prince. 

“You didn’t hear what happened?” Dream asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean? What happened?” Sapnap is looking at him now, concerned.

“Well…I kinda fucked up.” He replies, chewing on his lip. 

“Dream… what did you do?” 

“When I broke into the castle, I didn’t expect him to be sleeping on the floor.” Dream says, gesturing toward George. 

“Okay? Why didn’t you just kill him or something?” Sapnap asks incredulously, as if the person in question wasn’t standing right there. 

George makes an alarmed noise behind him, looking at Sapnap like he wants to say something, but no words come out. 

“Hey!” Dream smacks his friends arm, glaring. “You know I don’t kill people who aren’t my Target. Besides that… well… he’s sorta the prince…” The last words are mumbled, embarrassment seeping into his voice. 

“He’s what? You need to speak up, Dream, you know I can’t understand you when you do that shit.”

“He’s the prince, Sap. I found him curled in a ball on the floor with a crown on his head and he saw me so I took him hostage.” His words are clear enough to understand now, though they are a bit rushed. 

Realization dawns on Sapnap’s face and his expression quickly goes from mild amusement to shock and then to anger. Dream knew he deserved the outrage, though. 

“You kidnapped the Prince?!” He all but yells. 

Dream panics and pushes the other man back into his house, grabbing George’s uninjured wrist and pulling him into the house as well, slamming the door behind them. 

“Good idea, let the whole fucking village know!” Dream hisses angrily. 

Sapnap stares at Dream in disbelief, his eyes roving between the two of them.

“Dream, I knew you were an idiot but I didn’t think you were this fucking stupid!” He says, staring between the two of them in disbelief. 

“You act like I planned for this to happen. You think I wanted to kidnap someone? He’s done nothing wrong, Sapnap, I could not and will not kill him. You  _ know  _ that that’s not who I am.” 

George stands behind Dream, eyes on the floor as he shifts back and forth on his feet. He’s picking at his nails, fidgeting with his clothes, clearly uncomfortable. He’s unsure of what he should be doing in this situation, when his captor is discussing if he should or shouldn’t be killed right in front of him. He’s not afraid to admit that he’s absolutely terrified right now. He’d take the arranged marriage over the uncertainty of whether he was going to live or die anyday. The other man, Sapnap, Dream had called him, seemed to be way less fond of him than his captor. 

“I know, Dream. And you’re a better person than I because of it.” He sighs, running his fingers through his black hair. “So what’s the plan?” 

“I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to help me out…” Dream answers, chewing on his lip. 

He knew that Sapnap was going to be upset, that he’d get chastised for his stupidity, but he didn’t know if asking Sapnap to help him would be going too far. The other assassin usually didn’t engage in such high risk activities such as this, not unless there was months of planning into it. Sapnap was into pranks and tricks and other chaotic things, but this was too far, too dangerous. There were too many unknown variables, too many loose ends. 

“What do you want me to do?” His friend asks, turning to go sit at the table. 

Dream touches George’s shoulder, motioning for him to go sit. Once they’re all seated, Dream starts talking again. 

“You know that I have to go back eventually. I have to kill the King, and I think I can use George as leverage, you know? He’s the Prince, the only heir to the throne. They need him, and they’ll pay to get him back. He can be bait. It’ll be easier to get to the King if there’s that many less guards in the castle. I just need to figure out how to set it all up.” Dream tells Sapnap, chewing on his lip. 

Beside them, George makes a sound like he’s choking, causing the two to turn and look at him. He looks terrified, even more so than he has all night, and it takes a second for Dream to understand why. The King. He never told George  _ why _ he was in the castle in the first place. 

“You’re going to kill my father?” George whispers, his voice weak. 

“George- I-” Dream starts to explain, but he cuts himself off when he notices how George is trembling. 

Sapnap looks way out of his comfort zone, unsure what to do, say, or how to help. Dream’s not really sure what to say to fix this either, but then again, why does he care? George’s feelings on the matter should not matter to Dream. He strengthens his resolve before speaking again.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I am. That’s why I broke into the castle, and that’s why you’re here now.” He says, ready for the anger that will inevitably come from George. 

“Why? Why do you want to kill him?” George asks, unable to look at Dream. 

“Someone paid to have him killed.” 

“But why? What did he do?” 

Dream stares at him, confused. Does the  _ prince _ really not know the things that his own father did? 

“He kills his citizens for pleasure, George. That’s just  _ one  _ of the things he’s done.” Dream says in an even tone, waiting for Geore’s reply. 

He doesn’t know what he expects, but it’s not this. George immediately looks confused, and the confusion quickly morphs to anxiety and panic, and then he looks terrified. 

“No… No… There’s no way. There’s- You’ve got to be talking about someone else… There’s no way that my father would…. Would he?” He rambles, his words fading to a whisper at the end. 

“Apparently, he would.” Dream says, crossing his arms.

George doesn’t say anything after that. He falls silent, staring at the palms of his hands. Dream shakes his head, turning back to Sapnap. The other assassin’s attention is focused on George though, and Dream doesn’t know where this is going to go. 

“Are you tired, George?” Sapnap asks, his voice different from what Dream is used to.

George looks up at him, shock and confusion evident on his face. He’s going to get whiplash from the conflicting emotions he’s having to deal with. On one side, Dream kidnapped him and sometimes he seemed like he cared, but other times he was like stone, cold and calculating, emotionless. Sapnap, who he’d just met, had seemed so angry at the fact that he was even here in the first place, but now he sounded empathetic, like he was genuinely concerned for George. He stares into the other man's eyes, trying to find a hint of deceit or ill-will there. When he finds none, he just nods, exhausted. 

“Come with me, I’ve got a spare room you can use while you’re here.” Sapnap says, standing. 

George follows him through two wooden doors before they end in a small room with a fur-covered bed sitting in the corner, a writing desk with quills set out in another. It’s cozy and warm, and George feels his exhaustion in his bones just  _ thinking  _ about sleeping in that bed. Sapnap just smiles softly at him before he leaves, shutting the door behind him. Dream watches them, just barely able to see the two of them from his seat. When Sapnap comes back, he looks more serious than he has all night. Dream figures that this is when the important conversations are going to happen. 

“What are you going to do, Dream? Honestly, you know this was a stupid fucking idea, but I also know you’ve been thinking about what to do with him this whole time.” 

“I- I honestly have no idea. I’ve been anxious thinking about what to do with him. I don’t understand why I feel like I need to protect him or something when I don’t.” He says, looking at a particularly nice patch of table. 

“Tell me what you know about him?” Sapnap asks, sounding genuinely interested. 

Dream looks up, meeting his friend's eyes. He’s not sure what the other man is up to, but he knows that he wants to help. He slides his mask off his face and runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. 

“Well… when I found him, the first thing that was odd was that he was sleeping on the floor. He’s a prince, y’know? Why was he on the floor?”

Sapnap hums, thinking. 

“And the room he was in? There were bars on the window. It was like… like a maid's quarters. And the door was locked from the outside. It doesn’t sit right.” 

“What happened to his wrist? Did you do that to him?” The other asks, sounding defensive. 

“No! Jesus Sap, you  _ know  _ I’m not like that!” Dream defends quickly, glaring at Sapnap. “He told me his mother pushed him, he sprained it that way. I helped set it.” 

“Dream.” 

He looks up, meeting the other’s gaze. He swallows, already knowing deep down what his friend is going to say, but not really wanting to open that door just yet. He doesn’t really get much of a choice though. Sapnap was the only other person alive who knew what he’d gone through.

“You know what this looks like, right?” He says softly, raising his eyebrows. “They abuse him, Dream, but I know you’ve already figured that out.” 

Dream doesn’t answer, Sapnap’s words ricocheting around in his skull, giving him a headache. 

“Maybe that’s why you feel the need to protect him.” 

Dream clenches his fists, really not wanting to talk about this right now. He knows he won’t get his way, though. All he can do is try his best not to snap. 

“Sapnap. You know I… I can’t. I can’t allow that. I can’t get hurt like that again.” His voice is dangerously low, warning. 

“You also can’t keep living like this Dream, acting like you never feel anything, never care about anyone. It’s tearing you apart and everyone can see it. You’ve isolated yourself, cut off your friends.” Sapnap mumbles, looking down at the table. 

Dream doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows he’s burned all his bridges. He still finds himself wondering why Sapnap hasn’t left him. He would’ve left himself by now. 

“I’m sorry.” Dream whispers, looking down at the table again. 

The two of them fall into an awkward silence, staring at the table. 

“It’s okay to feel things Dream. I think, judging by what you’ve told me, that you did a good thing getting George out of that castle.” 

“Then why does he beg me to let him go back?” Dream asks, ignoring the first part of Sapnap’s statement. 

“They’re still his parents. That’s his whole life he’s just been taken away from. He doesn’t know any better.” 

Dream doesn’t like that Sapnap’s statement about George’s predicament makes him think harder about his own. He does understand that the King and the Queen are George’s parents and therefore he has a connection to them, but why does that connection remain so strong after everything they’ve apparently done to him? Did he ever have that with his parents? He thinks about when he’d finally run away, how he’d hidden in the back of a wagon to the city and stowed away on a ship and crossed a whole ocean to escape them. He’d been cold and starving and nearly caught multiple times but he’d made it. Stepping foot in a land that far away from his family had been like jumping into a frozen lake. 

He also remembers the nights spent lying awake in alleys, huddled under old clothes and papers he could find. He remembers begging for scraps of food and money on his knees. He remembers trying to find work, trying to get on his feet. Those times had been the worst of his life, and he does remember wishing he could go back. Wishing he could go home and be okay again. At least he’d had food and shelter at home. That’s all it was, though. There was still a stronger part of him that didn’t want to go back, that knew he would die if he went back. So he didn’t, and he knew that he was better for it. 

“I don’t understand why he wants to go back when they did this to him.” Dream says quietly, still not looking up at Sapnap. 

His friend sighs, the sound of a wooden chair scraping against the floor alerting Dream that the other has stood up. 

“Everyone deals with these kinds of things differently, Dream. This is just how he’s handling this. Take it easy on him.”

Dream looks up at him then, the anxiety clear on his face. Sapnap offers him an empathetic smile. 

“I don’t want to hurt him, Sap. You know I don’t hurt innocent people. He wasn’t part of the plan and I feel like this will only end badly. But I can’t just let him go. Especially now that I know what’s happening.” 

“It’ll be okay. This is a new experience for the both of you, y’know? He’s never been kidnapped and you have to actually interact with a human.” Sapnap teases, his voice lighter.

Dream scowls, although he’s not serious. Sapnap was good at being serious when he needed to be but he also knew how to release the tension from a conversation.

“I can’t believe you’ve just managed to change the tone of that conversation so easily.” He says, shaking his head.

“Let’s go to bed. We’ll figure out what to do with him in the morning. After some coffee.” Sapnap says, walking towards his bedroom. “There’s some furs in the box next to the fireplace. Unless you want to come cuddle with me?” 

Dream looks up to see Sapnap has stopped in his bedroom door, smiling at him. He weighs his options quickly, sleep on the cold floor or sleep in a bed with a human heater. He’d be stupid not to choose the latter. He stands, making sure to pick up his mask, and walks over to his friend, hitting him on the shoulder. He flops down on his back and pats the spot next to him. Sapnap doesn’t hesitate, flopping down next to him. They spend a couple minutes getting blankets situated before stilling. Dream stares at the roof, the silence aggravating his thoughts. 

“Thanks for helping me, Sap. If it wasn’t obvious, I have no idea what I’m doing.” Dream says softly, closing his eyes. 

“I know, idiot. That’s why I’m helping.” Sapnap snorts, turning onto his side.

“Goodnight, Sapnap.” Dream chuckles, feeling exhaustion tug at him. 

“Goodnight, Dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we feeling? Sapnap has more emotional maturity than Dream lol.
> 
> If you're interested, I've published another DNF oneshot for a Discord writing server's BINGO event! It IS an NSFW story, but if that's up your alley it's called "you're so pretty when you beg" and it's going to be part of a 'series' of other fics I write for this event. 
> 
> As always, don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, and subscribe if you want to be emailed when I post new chapters. 
> 
> I love all of you <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter has taken this long to get out, school has absolutely been kicking my ass and I've been having some mental health issues, but I think it'll get better from here. 
> 
> I think you're all going to love this chapter, I know that I do. 
> 
> Beta'd by Sam :)

Dream woke the next morning to the sound of sizzling meat and the scent of sausage filling Sapnap’s house. He groans and rolls over, burying his face in a pillow that smells like his friend. Sapnap sings when he cooks, and Dream doesn’t recognize the song, but his voice is low enough and the song is slow enough that Dream  _ almost  _ falls back asleep before he hears a door open somewhere in the house. He moves his head and his eyes meet George’s. The prince looks tired, his hair is messy and his clothes from the day before are all wrinkled. Dream catches himself staring and buries his face back in the pillows, using the fabric to hide the blush that appears on his cheeks. Why did George look so cute when he’d just woken up? Why did Dream think he looked cute in the first place???

George stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself since Dream is still in bed and Sapnap, the man who seemed so upset with his presence last night, is cooking breakfast and  _ singing _ . Sapnap stops singing when he catches sight of George, smiling softly. He waves him over, trying to get the other to come into the kitchen and sit down. George bites his lip and lingers in his spot for a few more moments before taking the invitation, sitting hesitantly on the edge of one of the chairs. 

“Oh Dream~ wakey wakey~” Sapnap says in a singsong voice, taking the meat out of the fire to let it cool off. 

Dream groans into his pillow, not ready to face George again. The conversation he and Sapnap had had about his feelings just the night before was still fresh in his mind, tumbling around like a bunch of rocks. He wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge that he might be feeling something for George, but he also didn’t want to hurt the prince when he really didn’t deserve it. He also wanted to sit down and talk to George about what his parents put him through. He wanted to explain that while he was going to kill the King, it was for the best. The King was a bad person, and Dream desperately wanted to make sure that George knew that. 

For a second he wonders why he cares about what George thinks of him, but the idea of George hating him when all Dream was trying to do was  _ help  _ made his heart ache. He just had to accept that he might have to get hurt himself in order to make sure that George would be okay. That’s what he wanted, in the end. He wanted George to be okay. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he felt the need to  _ protect  _ George, to keep him from the same horrors he had to face when he was a kid. He groans again and rolls over, staring up at the ceiling. He can feel both of the other men staring at him, so he sits up and runs his fingers through his hair, yawning. It takes Dream a second to realize that George’s face is a bright red, staring at the table and Sapnap is staring at him, his eyebrows raised. 

Dream stares back in confusion, wondering what in the hell is going on with both of them. Sapnap taps his face, nodding towards the nightstand. Dream turns to look and realization dawns on him like a falling anvil. His  _ mask  _ was sitting right where he’d left it last night. He’d forgotten to put it on before George woke up, and it was too late to do so now. He groans and hides his face with his hands, rubbing at his skin vigorously. So much for keeping his identity a secret. He curses under his breath, dropping his hands. George is looking anywhere except his face, the blush on his cheeks still obvious. He might as well own it now, right? He slides out of bed and sits in the chair across from George, leaning on the back legs of the chair. 

“What’d you make for breakfast, Sap?” He asks, tilting his head at the other man. 

“I had some eggs from yesterday and some bacon from the butcher. You two get the good food while you’re hiding out.” Sapnap says, piling the food onto plates and setting them on the table. 

The third man sits in the chair closest to the door and pulls a plate towards himself, not wasting any time digging in. Dream follows suit, his stomach rumbling from the past couple days of light food that he’d been having. George watches the two of them for a few minutes before he grabs his plate hesitantly, poking at the eggs with his fork. His stomach makes an audible growl and he blushes a furious shade of red again, giving into his hunger. Dream and Sapnap had no reason to poison him, and he was pretty confident neither of them wanted to kill him anymore, so eating the food given to him was fine. Besides that, this was the best looking food he’d been served in almost a year. 

The three men eat most of their food in silence, everyone too hungry to bother trying to make any kind of small talk. Sapnap finishes first, pushing his plate away with a burp. He leans back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head as he looks back and forth between George and Dream. George still has a light pink blush on his cheeks, and Dream is still engrossed in his food. The tension in the air between them is palpable, and it’s obvious that the two are trying very hard to ignore the conversation that they need to have. 

“You guys are acting like a married couple, giving each other the silent treatment.” Sapnap says with a snort, raising his eyebrows at Dream. 

George chokes on his food, his face flaming red again. He stares at Sapnap, panic in his eyes at being called out so suddenly. He wasn’t trying to ignore Dream, or give him the silent treatment, but what else was he supposed to do?

“Sapnap, I swear to god if you don’t shut the fuck up-” Dream pushes his empty plate away, glaring at the black haired man. 

“What!? He won’t even look at you and you’re acting like you didn’t just kidnap him and bring him to my house against his will. I’m gonna kick both of you out if this awkwardness is what I’m going to have to deal with.” 

Dream opens his mouth to retaliate, but George chooses that moment to meet Dream’s eyes. He looks afraid, anxious, and  _ exhausted _ . Dream stares for a few moments before he abruptly stands, the chair nearly falling over from the force of it. He tears his eyes away from George’s and leaves the house, needing to be out of that room. He goes around to Sapnap’s stable where Patches greets him with a huff. He leans his forehead against hers and breathes in her scent, willing himself to calm down. He’d regretted his reaction before he even left the house, but he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere if he was upset. He hears someone coming up behind him and he moves to grab a knife before they stop. 

Dream inhales slowly and turns around, exhaling when he sees that it’s exactly who he thought it would be. George stands in front of him, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he looks literally anywhere except at Dream. It’s obvious that George is uncomfortable, and Dream wouldn’t be surprised if Sapnap had forced him to come. He takes a couple more deep breaths, schooling his features back to their normal emotionless state. He’s about to say something when George starts talking first. 

“Dream.” The prince says his name like a statement. 

Dream raises his eyebrow, leaning against the stable wall. 

“I… I want to understand why you’re doing this.” 

“Why I’m going to kill your father?” Dream says bluntly.

George flinches at his words but nods, staring at the ground again. Dream mentally smacks himself. He doesn’t want to upset George further, but that’s not really possible with where this conversation is going. 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why the people that go and seek your father’s help don’t go back to their families?” 

“I… I’m never really there when people come to see him…” George says quietly. 

“For quite a while now, there have been a constant string of reports of people from your village going missing, and the last place they were seen is your father’s castle.” Dream explains. 

George meets Dream’s eyes now, trying to detect if he’s lying or not. Dream can’t tell if the prince is hopeful or not, but he visibly deflates when he realizes that Dream is in fact telling the truth. 

“He has them killed George. For no reason at all.” 

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but the silence between them is thick. 

“I know that you believe me. That deep down you’ve known all along that he was a terrible person.” Dream tries to let empathy bleed into his voice. 

George slides down the wall and sits on the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest. Dream bites his lip and after a few seconds, he sits down with him. He might not understand why George is so upset when his parents are at the root of his issues, but he does understand that having to let go of a support system like your parents is not easy. They sit together in silence for what feels like an eternity to Dream, the only sounds around them are the wind and Patches’s occasional movements. Dream lets his thoughts drift, thinking about his own parents and how he grew up. He’s further into his emotions than he would like when the silence is broken by the sound of George crying. 

He’s trying to keep his tears quiet, but it’s not working very well. Dream doesn’t know what to do, he can’t even handle his own emotions let alone someone else’s. Does he say something? Does he hug the other man? That seems like it would do more harm than good at this point. They both end up sitting there awkwardly as George works through his tears, the sound making Dream’s chest hurt. George doesn’t deserve to feel like this, and Dream wishes he could help but he has no idea how. After a couple minutes, the prince is still crying but he’s silent, staring emotionlessly at the ground. 

“They kept me locked in my room for a year. All alone. I think they told the servants they weren’t allowed to talk to me.” He says, his voice rough from crying. 

Dream looks at him, unsure of what to say. 

“I was 19. My mother caught me making out with a boy in the gardens. I- I didn’t understand what I had done wrong but they were  _ so  _ mad at me…” 

“George…” 

“They locked me away when I turned 21, when it was no longer necessary for me to be present with the rest of the court. I’d been living in the room you found me in since they put me there.” George looks at him now, his eyes red. 

Dream’s heart clenches at how broken George looks right now. He couldn’t imagine what that must’ve been like, to be locked away with no contact by your own parents. Dream had gotten away from his abusive family before they did anything like that, but he didn’t doubt that they would’ve if he had stayed. 

“When they would bring my food, I would beg them to talk to me. I’d get bruises on my knees from falling. It never mattered, though. No one ever responded. I would talk to the birds, dream about being able to fly far far away from that place.” He pauses to breathe, more tears slipping silently down his cheeks. “When you came, that was the first day I’d been out of that room.” 

“What was going on that day? The whole village was set up in celebration.” Dream asks, prompting George to unpack more of his feelings. 

“They’d set up an arranged marriage. To some girl from some place I’d never heard of. I went to show her the gardens and we sat and talked in the gazebo… the same one my mother had caught me in. She saw us there again and she was furious... “ 

“Why was she mad?” 

“I… I don’t know. I think it reminded her of when I was there with a boy, except I was there with this woman that  _ she  _ wanted me to marry. I don’t understand why she got so upset.” As he talks, his tone shifts, and Dream swears he can hear anger seeping into his voice. 

“Is that what happened to your wrist? Your mother?” 

George nods, looking down at the wrist in question. 

“She dragged me back to my room and shoved me through the door and I fell on it. I ended up crying myself to sleep on the floor and that’s where you found me.” George’s voice fades off in the end, and he looks back up at Dream, waiting for a response. 

“So why do you want to go back?” Dream asks, the words sounding harsher than intended.

“That’s all I’ve ever known, Dream. That’s my entire life and you… you just took me away from it.” The anger is back in George’s voice, but this time it’s directed at him. 

“How was I supposed to know, George? They were literally keeping you alive so they could use you later. They don’t give a shit about you.” Dream’s voice is getting heated now, too. 

“You could’ve left me there! At least I knew my place, knew what to do with myself, knew who I was supposed to be!” 

“No, that was who  _ they  _ wanted you to be, not who you were supposed to be.” Dream retaliates, jabbing his finger at George when he says ‘they.’

“What if that’s who I wanted to be too? What if I wanted to be what they wanted me to be!?” George is yelling now. 

“But it isn’t, is it!? You wanted to get out of there so bad you would talk to the fucking birds, George. Don’t kid yourself.” Dream yells back, upset that George is being  _ so stubborn.  _

“It still wasn’t your decision to make, Dream. Don’t fucking act like you’re the good guy here. You  _ kidnapped  _ me.” 

“And I’d do it again, if it meant saving you from that.” 

It’s now that Dream realizes how close they’ve gotten over the course of their fight. George’s breathing is heavy from yelling, but it looks like it gave him the release he needed. Getting the pent up feelings out was definitely the best thing for the both of them. Now though, their faces are close enough that Dream can see the dried tears on George’s cheeks, can see the faint red flush he got from being so upset. 

“Why do you  _ care  _ so much, Dream?” George says, his voice a low mumble that only he can hear. 

Dream doesn’t even think, moving on instinct and  _ feeling  _ alone. He cups George’s face and closes the gap between them, connecting their lips in a kiss that feels like nothing Dream’s ever experienced before. George tenses under his touch, but within a couple of seconds he closes his eyes and leans into Dream’s hand, kissing him back. It’s hesitant and soft and  _ confusing  _ but they both indulge in their feelings for just a few moments. They pull apart to breathe and stare at each other for a few moments before George averts his eyes, a dark blush spreading across his cheeks. Dream smiles, leaning back against the stable wall. 

“I was in the same position as you, when I was younger.” Dream says, staring up at the clouds. 

George peeks up at him, his face still red. 

“My parents. They used to… to beat the shit out of me. I think my dad would’ve killed me if he could.” 

He has the others full attention now. 

“Stubborn son of a bitch… He used to drag me out of bed, blackout drunk, and whip me. I still have the scars on my back.” He says, clenching and unclenching his fist in anger. 

“Dream…” 

“I ran away the day I turned 18. I got on the first ship I could sneak on to and got as far away as I could. There were times when I considered going back… just so I could sleep in a warm bed or have a full stomach. But I never went back. I couldn’t.” He finishes, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. 

George reaches out and brushes his fingertips over the back of Dream’s hand in an attempt at comfort. Dream looks at him and smiles weakly, not trusting himself to say anything. He doesn’t know how long this calm between him and George is going to last, but he’ll take advantage of it while he can. 

“Is that why you do what you do now?” George asks softly. 

“Why I’m an assassin?” He raises his eyebrow, and the other nods. 

Dream turns himself so he can meet George’s eyes. 

“That’s one of the reasons. I figured if no one else was going to get rid of those kinds of people, that I would do it myself.” 

“Did you… did you kill your parents?” George’s voice is hesitant, like he’s scared of the answer. 

“No. I think they died of natural causes, which is more than they deserved.” Dream says with a shake of his head. 

George seems to relax a bit more at that. 

“I don’t go after people that don’t deserve it, George. Every single person I’ve ever killed has done far worse things to others than I ever did to them.” Dream can tell that George doesn’t fully believe him. 

He sighs and gets to his feet, brushing his pants off. He offers George his hand and the other man takes it, using it to stand before letting go. He’s avoiding eye contact again, and Dream feels like they’re back to square one. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to make George believe him. He doesn’t blame the prince for  _ not  _ believing him, given the circumstances, but it’s still frustrating nonetheless. 

“Let’s go back inside. I need to come up with a plan to get to the King.” 

George just nods and follows Dream back into Sapnap’s house, where the other man is washing the dishes they used for breakfast. George doesn’t say anything to either of the men, he just heads towards the room he slept in the night before and quietly closes the door. Sapnap raises an eyebrow at him and Dream just shakes his head, sitting down with a sigh. The other man dries his hands and sits across from him, waiting for him to speak. 

“We fought. Not physically, but we yelled at each other and… and I think it helped him. He looked relieved after. Calmer.” Dream says quietly, not wanting George to overhear if he happens to be trying to listen. 

“And?” 

“I told him I’d kidnap him again if it meant I could save him from what his parents were doing. And then I kissed him.” He says, picking at the table with his fingernail. 

“You what?” 

“You heard me. I kissed him, Sap. We were so close and you know I’m not great at handling my feelings but… I know I feel something for him and it felt right so I kissed him.” His voice tapers off at the end, tinged with embarrassment. 

“Did he slap you? That seems like something he would do.” His friend grins, leaning back in his chair. 

“He kissed me back.” 

“Oh… well he didn’t look very pleased with you just now, I know you’re not that bad of a kisser… what else happened?” Sapnap sounds more concerned now. 

“I told him I didn’t kill people who didn’t deserve it. I don’t think he believes me.” Dream knows the defeat in his voice is obvious. 

“To be fair… I don’t think I’d believe you either. Look at me, Dream.” Sapnap grabs his hand and stops his picking. 

Dream looks up at him, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“It’ll be okay. He’ll see. He’s better off with you and I think deep down he knows that. He’s just not ready to accept it yet.” 

Dream nods, giving Sapnap a weak smile. He doesn’t know where he’d be without his best friend. The man always seemed to have advice for any situation Dream found himself in. 

“Thanks man… I’m scared too, you know? I’m incompetent when it comes to stuff like this.” He says, shaking his head again. 

“Trust me, I know. But he’ll come around. We’ll make him see that you’re not the bad guy here. I promise. I’m invested in you two, now.” Sapnap says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair once more. 

“Good to know... I’m gonna need all the help I can get.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oopthereitis
> 
> They kissed. I don't think things are going to get any better though. 
> 
> What do you guys think? Leave me comments, I love reading them and responding to you all!
> 
> In case you haven't seen already and are interested, I wrote THREE dnf oneshots for a bingo event that are up for your viewing pleasure. The prompts were orgasm denial (obviously NSFW,) soulmates (SFW) and choking (also obviously NSFW.) Give those a read if that's your thing. 
> 
> As always, don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, and subscribe to the work if you'd like email updates whenever I post a new chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! a wild update appears !
> 
> Sorry it's taken SO LONG again, AND that this chapter feels really half assed to me but maybe you guys will like it better :) It's mostly the same as last chapter, but from George's point of view. I'm trying hard to make sure you see what both of them are thinking about important moments, like the kiss.

_ George _

George’s head is spinning. He feels sick to his stomach, not for the first time since he’s been brought to this house. When he’d woken up this morning, nerves had bubbled in his stomach when he realized that the past couple of days had not, in fact, been a dream. He woke up in a strange bedroom, in a soft bed covered in warm blankets. He could hear the man from the night before, Sapnap, singing somewhere in the house. The savory scent of meat wafted under the bedroom door and made his stomach rumble. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to sit and wait for someone to get him, or if he was free to walk around. He sits up in bed and looks around the room, seeing if there was anything he can use to maybe aid in an escape. 

Directly across from the bed there was a small window that he could easily fit through. If he left through there, how long would it take for Dream to find out? He knew they were close to a larger village, if he could get there surely someone would recognize him as the prince and would help him get home, right? He had been hidden away from the public for the past three years, and his appearance had changed a lot. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize him. Had his parents sent out search parties for him? He figured they would, maybe not because they cared about him but because they needed him for that arranged marriage. His stomach rumbles again and he pushes his escape plans to the back of his mind, deciding to eat breakfast and maybe figure out a better plan later on. 

He slides out of bed with a groan, his body aching from all the horseback riding he was forced to do. He stretches, feeling several of his sore muscles ache in negation. He doesn’t have a change of clothes from the royal attire he’d fallen asleep in before Dream had found him, and by now they were dirty, torn in multiple places, and they didn’t smell the greatest. He didn’t really have a choice but to wear them, though. Maybe he could get Dream to get him some new clothing. He grabs the doorknob and hesitates once more before his stomach wins out, urging him out of his room and into the kitchen for some breakfast. 

Sapnap is singing to himself while he cooks, and Dream is still laying face first in a pillow. George looks around awkwardly, chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t feel free to move around the house, but Sapnap catches sight of him and beckons him to sit down. He gingerly sits at the table, still on edge and nervous. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Dream groans, rolling over in bed. George looks at him, his eyes going wide when he realizes the man isn’t wearing his mask. He doesn’t know what he expected Dream to look like, but it wasn’t this. He’s got a sharp jawline and cheekbones that accentuate the rest of his facial structure nicely. Freckles cover his nose and his cheeks, and he’s got a thin scar near the corner of his lips. Dream makes eye contact with him and George realizes too late that he’s staring. He quickly looks away, his face burning. 

There’s an awkward silence between the three of them before Dream comes and sits at the table. Him and Sapnap exchange words before food is placed on the table, the smell making George’s stomach rumble. The other two men start on their food immediately, but he’s hesitant. He eventually decides, or his stomach decides for him, that the two men wouldn’t stoop so low as to poison him. Still, there’s an awkward tension in the air between Dream and him, and he chooses to ignore it. He slowly pulls the plate closer and starts to eat, his mouth watering. The food smells and tastes better than anything he’s eaten in the past year, and for a second he forgets that he’s actually been kidnapped. He’s halfway through his own food when Sapnap pushes his plate away, leaning back in his chair. 

“You guys are acting like a married couple, giving each other the silent treatment.” 

George nearly chokes on his food, his blush returning with a vengeance. What was he talking about? The silent treatment? Was he supposed to be more friendly with his captor? Either way, it’s not like it was intentional… what was there for them to talk about?

“Sapnap, I swear to god if you don’t shut the fuck up-” Dream doesn’t really sound angry, but George can see the way he glares at his friend. 

“What!? He won’t even look at you and you’re acting like you didn’t just kidnap him and bring him to my house against his will. I’m gonna kick both of you out if this awkwardness is what I’m going to have to deal with.” 

George bites his lip at that. He doesn’t want Sapnap to kick them out, he doesn’t want to go back to sleeping on the forest floor and only eating whatever Dream catches for them. He looks up at Dream, meeting his eyes. He wants to look away but he catches sight of an emotion he can’t quite place in the other man’s eyes. The longer they make eye contact, the more confused and flustered George grows. Suddenly, Dream stands, the chair almost falling over behind him with the force of it. He stomps out of the house like a child having a tantrum, leaving Sapnap and him to sit in awkward silence. Sapnap sighs, standing up and collecting the dishes off the table. 

“Did I do something wrong…?” George asks quietly, staring at the door that Dream just left out of. 

“George… I know this is… not an ideal situation for you to be in, but I’m gonna be honest with you here.” Sapnap places the plates in the basin and then turns around, leaning against the sink to meet George’s eyes. 

“About?”

“Dream’s doing what he believes is the best thing for you. Given my limited knowledge of the situation, I can’t say one way or the other, but I know that he cares about you. He’s terrible at expressing emotions but… something about you has fucked him up, George.”

_ The best thing for him?  _ Dream, who kidnapped him not even a week ago, thought he was in a position to decide what’s best for him? And on top of that, he claims to  _ care _ about him? Sapnap’s words confuse George even further but the first emotion he feels in anger. How dare this man who was a  _ stranger _ just barge into his life and act like he knows what’s best? 

“What the  _ fuck _ does that even mean?” George snaps, his anger making its way out. 

Sapnap raises an eyebrow at him, but continues anyway. 

“He told me about how he found you. About the fact that your door was locked from the outside, that there were bars on your window.” The other man’s is very matter-of-fact. 

George becomes very interested in the table again. 

“George, you know that that’s not normal, right? That that’s abuse?” 

Now it’s George’s turn to stand. He doesn’t really want to talk about this with someone he barely knows. He leaves through the same door Dream did, feeling Sapnap’s eyes on him the whole time. Once he’s outside it’s like he remembers how to breathe again and he takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand. The cool air feels good, and it clears his head and helps him think better. Some part of him knows that Sapnap is right. Knows that getting away from his parents was the best thing that could have happened to him. But a bigger part of him is still terrified of the prospect of no longer being under their care. 

He was scared of being alone. He was scared of being without their protection, even if they hadn’t treated him the best. Dream had suddenly taken all of that away from him, hadn’t even given him a choice in the matter. Of course he was upset and confused and  _ exhausted  _ with all the emotions he was having to deal with. That was only natural. Maybe if he’d come to the conclusion that he needed to escape on his own he would be better off. Then again… He already knew before Dream came into his life, didn’t he? Wasn’t freedom one of the many things he’d talk to the birds about? Isn’t this exactly what he wanted? It came down to the fact that this was all so sudden, that it was against his will. Could he come to terms with it better if he acknowledged that this was the best thing for him?

He walks as he thinks, eventually finding himself standing in front of a stable. From the outside, he can see Dream with his horse and he stops. Does he want to go in there and confront his captor? Will it actually achieve anything? His need for answers outweighs his unwillingness to get closer to the man, and he heads inside. Dream is facing away from him so he approaches slowly, not wanting to startle the assassin and get himself hurt. He stops a few feet away and Dream turns to face him. George can feel his gaze burning holes into his body and it makes him uneasy. He doesn’t meet his look. The silence between them stretches for an awkward amount of time before either of them speaks. 

“Dream.” George  _ finally  _ says. “I want to understand why you’re doing this.” 

He hears Dream move, looks up to see him leaning against the wooden wall of the stable. 

“Why I’m going to kill your father?” His words cut George like a knife. 

George hesitates. Does he  _ really  _ want to know? Him and Dream aren’t friends, so it’s not like knowing will shatter some imaginary friendship that they have going on. He eventually nods, his head feeling heavy. Dream asks him about his fathers citizens, asking him if he knows why they never leave the castle after they’ve come to seek help. George  _ doesn’t know.  _ How could he? He spent all of his time locked away, he didn’t know anything anymore. It’s easy to tell that Dream isn’t lying. He can see the honesty in his green eyes as the other man’s gaze seems to reach into his soul. 

“He has them killed George. For no reason at all.”

Dream’s words attach to his brain like a virus. His chest grows tight and it’s hard to breathe. He can hear the assassin speaking again but there’s no sound. George stumbles back and slides down the wall till he’s sitting, drawing his knees to his chest. It’s hard to breathe and there’s a loud ringing in his ears. Thoughts race through his head as he tries to figure everything out, tries to come to terms with the fact that  _ deep down  _ he  _ knows  _ that Dream is right. He’s known all along that his father was evil enough to do something like that but… he still feels that attachment. He barely registers Dream moving to sit next to him through the tears that suddenly begin falling. All he wants is to go back but he  _ knows  _ that he shouldn’t. He  _ knows  _ that there is nothing good for him there, so  _ why?  _ Why does he  _ still  _ want to go back? His head feels like concrete as is throbs in pain. 

Before George realizes, he’s talking again. He tells Dream everything. He tells him about the boy his mother caught him kissing, how his parents had been  _ so angry  _ and locked him away. How he’d been living in his room for a year before he had come along. George spares a few glances at Dream as he spills his story, seeing that the other man is listening intently, like he actually cares. Sapnap had said he did, but George was reluctant to believe him. Dream asks what was happening the day he came, and George isn’t sure why he really cares, but tells him anyway. His parents had set up an arranged marriage and the people were celebrating. He tells him about how he had taken Fen to the gardens, and his mother had gotten mad at him yet again. 

Dream asks him if it was because of his mother that his wrist had broken. As if in cue, or to remind him that it was still there, it throbbed in pain. He looks down at it, still wrapped and kept straight by Dream’s handiwork. He hates how dependent he feels on his captor, hates that he  _ knows  _ he’d be worse off if Dream hadn’t found him. 

“So why do you want to go back?” The words interrupt his thoughts. 

“That’s all I’ve ever known, Dream. That’s my entire life and you… you just took me away from it.” He can’t help but feel angry at the fact that Dream even had to ask. 

Dream argues that there’s no way he could’ve known. He argues there was no way he wanted to be what his parents were forcing him to be. George is angry that Dream has the audacity to assume he knows what he was feeling, or what he wants. 

“It still wasn’t your decision to make, Dream. Don’t fucking act like you’re the good guy here. You  _ kidnapped  _ me.” 

“And I’d do it again, if it meant saving you from that.” 

George’s breath is coming a little sharper from the yelling he’s been doing, and Dream’s face is red from ranting. They’ve gotten much closer since they started fighting, and George can feel Dream’s hot breath on his face. He swallows, flicking his eyes down to the other man’s lips. He had conflicting feelings for his captor. One on hand, Dreams was attractive, and George was  _ attracted  _ to him, but, on the other hand… he felt dirty for being attracted to the man who had kidnapped him. He hated Dream’s arrogance, and he didn’t want to fall for that level of cockiness. 

“Why do you  _ care  _ so much, Dream?” George mumbles, looking anywhere but the vibrant green eyes right in front of him. 

With that, Dream grabs his face and pulls him in, connecting their lips. George is shocked, and he freezes in place. He definitely wasn’t expecting that, but… his body relaxes and he leans into the touch, kissing the assassin back. His head is immediately thrown back into turmoil, just after he’d started straightening it out. He doesn’t care right now, though. Not when Dream is kissing him and it feels  _ so wrong _ but he doesn’t want it to stop. Dream pulls away first and George meets his eyes before flushing red, staring at the dirt in front of him. 

Why did he do that? Why did he kiss back? Why did Dream kiss him in the first place? Why did he  _ not hate it?  _ Why didn’t he push Dream away? Why did he want it?

His head begins to hurt with all the ‘whys.’ 

Dream starts to talk again, and George forces himself to focus on the other man's deep voice. Dream tells him about his childhood, and how his father used to abuse him, too. George thinks that it isn’t really the same, that Dream still had a chance, but he can see that the other is trying to break the ice between them, making himself more vulnerable so George can decide if he wants to trust him or not. He tries, he really does, to understand where Dream is coming from, and why he does what he does now. 

“Did you… did you kill your parents?” He asks, his voice wavering. 

“No. I think they died of natural causes, which is more than they deserved.”

Dream’s answer relieves him, but doesn’t necessarily make him feel any better about the position he’s in. Dream insists that he doesn’t kill people who don’t deserve it, and that everyone he’s killed in the past had it coming. It’s not that George doesn’t  _ want  _ to believe him. Believing him would be so much easier. He just… can’t. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, why he can’t just believe that his father has done the things Dream says he has. He knows his father is a terrible person, but deep down, a part of him hopes that it’s all a lie. 

An awkward tension grows in the air between the two of them before Dream moves, standing up and offering George his hand. George takes it, but he doesn’t reciprocate the touch for longer than necessary. He follows the other man back into the house and heads to his room without a word, closing the door behind him. He sits on the bed, frustratedly tugging at his hair with his hands. This was very quickly becoming way too complicated for his liking, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He lays back and stares at the wooden ceiling, his thoughts flying by too fast for him to focus. 

He knows that Dream is obviously up to something. Dream kissed him, and he kissed back. Why? He’s not sure. Dream insisted that the King was a bad person that needed to die. Why doesn’t George believe him? He’s not sure about that, either. Dream also insists that he doesn’t hurt people who don’t deserve it. Does George believe this…? It’s not that he doesn’t  _ want  _ to… The one thing he’s certain of right now is that he  _ does not trust Dream.  _ Not after being kidnapped by him, not after having his emotions toyed with, and  _ certainly  _ not after the man had  _ kissed him _ . 

George groans and rolls onto his side, curling up into a ball. His head is throbbing again and he just wants it to stop. What was he supposed to do now? Does he just follow Dream and hope that some clarity will come along the way? He could always do some investigating of his own, stay undercover but talk to people, find out what they think about the King. Would Sapnap be on his side or Dream’s? If he runs now, will both of them come after him? Should he try to run away again? Maybe if he left during the night and told one of the townspeople who he was he could get away…. Or Dream would let him go, running back to his fate? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's that. What will George do? Stay? Go? 
> 
> I hope you all have been doing well! I quit my job last weekend so I've been home ALL week and got to watch Tommy's lore streams LIVE (how are feeling, fellow Tommy apologists?) Next week, I'm getting top surgery (author lore, cameron is a trans guy!) and I'll probably not be willing to do much of literally anything for a bit after that, so the next update might take even longer, I apologize. 
> 
> Anyways, don't be afraid to leave a comment, kudos, or subscribe to the work to get updates when I post new chapters! Thank you all for all the support despite the updates slowing down, it helps me stay motivated :)


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